


Walk in the Dark

by RelativelyOK



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daredevil AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-06-06 17:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6763210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RelativelyOK/pseuds/RelativelyOK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sameen Shaw is fresh out of her residency, and spends her days at Metro-General. But at night, she's the devil of Hell's Kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Punisher

The first punch breaks his nose. It made the next two messy work. Again. And once more. He falls to the floor, and Shaw kicks him over to the pile in the corner. She turns to the next guy, and hasn’t even broken a sweat yet. He was shaking in his boots as she approached him.

“Maybe just put down the bat, it’ll hurt less,” Shaw said.

So of course he came at her with it in tow. She side steps, grabs the bat, and slams it into his face twice. He hits the floor still holding it. 

The sun was starting to come up, and she grumbles to herself because she won’t have time for her morning workout. Though, going home via rooftop could count as cardio. A quick shower and an energy bar later, and she found herself stepping through the yellowing walls of the Metro-General ER. First things first, nurses station.

“You don’t have a first aid kit at home, Dr. Shaw?” Michael Cole was always smiling, which was good for anxious patients that found themselves in his presence, and bad for non-morning people that found themselves in the chipper nurse’s sunshine bubble.

“Why go name brand, when you could slather on the generic stuff? Mind your own business, Cole.” Shaw tossed him the tube of ointment when her bruised knuckles were sufficiently treated.

He studied the cut on her brow. “What was it that you said you did again?” he asked for the third time in two weeks. 

“Muay Thai.”

“Looks intense. But it might just be your face,” Cole smiled and started to walk away, but turned back around to add, “By the way, the director has been asking why you look like shit coming in lately. You’ve been here less than a year, you should watch out while you’re still on probation.”

“Let me get back to you on that one,” Shaw replied with no intention of doing that. Her phone was ringing, the special one. “Hello detective, you found my present?”

* * *

 

Detective Carter was a hardass. She always seemed two steps ahead of the other cops though, so Shaw took her rants on ethics unflinchingly most days. Ethics were for doctors, and only most of them, if she were honest. But the detective could believe what she wanted if this partnership got the job done. Her nightly punching bags needed a cozy jail cell, and that was the realm of cops and lawyers, and she was neither. Thank god.

“Two of the guys you took down are in the ICU.” Reese appeared in a dark corner sipping on a coffee.

Shaw didn't look up from the sink, but she scrubbed her hands a touch harder. There will come a day when he couldn't sneak up on her, and when it comes she'll smack the broodiness from his face.

“I already got this lecture from the detective, Reese,” Shaw muttered.

“She’s right. Your job is to disarm and restrain, not beat within an inch of their life,” Reese said.

“Why don't you put on the dumbass suit then? Lay off, they're not dead are they? I know what kills people,” Shaw shot back.

“I’m retired. This is our arrangement, Shaw. If you don't like it, you could go back to working the night shift here,” Reese said. 

“Maybe I will.”

“Just remember, you take a night off, people get hurt. When they end up on your stretcher, it's because you couldn't show a little self control,” Reese said.

Shaw held his gaze defiantly, then sighed throwing her hands up in defeat, “I'll tone it down okay? Not that those cop killers deserved any better. I help anyone that lands in front of me here. Beauty of the ER. I could at least be a little discerning after hours.”

“Your job isn't to decide who deserves what. Leave enforcing the law to the detective. You stop immediate threats,” Reese pressed on.

“I get it, I'll try not to offend your delicate sensibilities. So you could stay in  _ Joss’  _ in good graces,” Shaw grumbled. His little schoolboy crush on the detective was neither subtle nor convenient.

This seemed to satisfy him, because he went back to his coffee.

“Well? Do you have something for me or not?” Shaw asked impatiently, glaring when he gave her a little smirk. She tried not to be too eager, she doesn't do eager. She just wanted him out of her face.

“Last night while you were beating faces in, there was a massacre in a warehouse, couple blocks away. All mafia, all 20 dead. No suspects, no witnesses. Could have been the Brotherhood. There was a similar attack on them last week, this could be retribution, but both groups have been staying low since the Russians went down last year.”

“Don't you usually send me in before these things happen?” Not that Shaw particularly cared if some mafia caught a couple bullets.

Reese disregarded that and continued, “Figure out what happened. Find the perps, and stop them before they strike again.”

“Fine. That all?”

“Last thing. Stop looking into my business, or my employer’s. You won't find anything.” Reese almost looked a little smug.  

“You always seem to know where trouble will come up, and you didn't think I would be a little curious? I want to know who's pulling the strings, Reese. Maybe it's time I met the man behind the curtain,” Shaw said.

“Just do your part,” he replied, without even considering it.

Shaw ground her teeth. 

“You know, just before you decided to retire last year, there was a pretty messy murder. A journalist that had been avidly reporting on Daredevil. Even shot a grainy image of your stupid suit and ski mask combo, before you decided to hand over the red leathery wedgie monster. Jessica Arndt ring any bells to you?”

Reese’s face fell and jaw tensed, and he towered over her with a deadly look.

“Mind yourself, Shaw,” he warned stiffly and left.

* * *

 

||7 months ago||

_ Shaw hated nights off, she always ended up doing some dumb shit. That night was no different she concluded, when she rolled out of some guy’s bed and found that she’d forgotten her jacket in his car. Her favorite hoodie. She wasn't about to wake David or Tommy Curtis or whatever his name was, so she grabbed whatever was thrown over the back of a chair- he wouldn’t miss it- and left. She was still pouting to herself when she heard a young girl scream just down the street.  _

_ Now, she didn't fancy herself altruistic, but something about the image of a grown man trying to throw some ten year old into a van, had her running full speed. She couldn’t exactly remember what happened in between, but ended up straddling the guy hitting him in the face again, and again, and again. Her hood had gotten pulled over her face and her hair was in her mouth, and the girl hadn’t stopped screaming. Only, maybe the screaming was all in her head, because a small voice from behind her had her stop mid-punch. _

_ “Are you going to kill him?” The girl hadn’t run away like Shaw had expected her to, she was sat a ways away, just watching. _

_ “No,” Shaw murmured. She got off the kidnapper, and sat on the floor, trying to catch her breath. She turned him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own blood, and so the kid wouldn’t have to look at his face. _

_ “Are you okay?” Shaw asked.  _

_ “I’ve seen worse,” the girl remarked. _

_ “That’s fucked up,” Shaw replied. _

_ They sat in silence for a while, but the kid kept looking back at the bloodied man. He was so still, he seemed dead if it wasn’t for his choked up breathing. The girl jumped at every gurgle, but Shaw was tired and didn’t really know how reassure her. _

_ “Sam Shaw,” she offered the kid her hand. _

_ “Gen,” was the reply. _

_ “Why were they after you, Gen?” Shaw asked, just to pass time. _

_ “I’m a spy,” Gen replied, the look of seriousness on her face almost comical. _

_ “A spy wouldn’t just come out and say they’re one,” Shaw remarked. _

_ “What do you know about being a spy?” Gen asked crossing her arms defensively. _

_ “Good point.” _

_ “I was trying to find the Russians that got away. They came back to my building,” Gen explained glumly. _

_ “That was stupid.” Shaw immediately regretted saying that, as the reality of the situation seemed to dawn on the girl. _

_ “What do we do now? Do we call the cops? The Russians had cops on the inside. It’s like Russia, you can’t trust them. If we don’t call the cops, this guy is gonna die. If they’re a dirty cop, they might try to-” _

_ “Calm down,”  Shaw rolled her eyes, “I’m a doctor.” Other than being wholly cliche as a reassurance, it was even worse, that it actually worked. _

_ “Will they still let you be a doctor after this?” Gen asked in a small voice, again looking over at the kidnapper. _

_ “Do no harm, right?” Shaw said with a bitter smile, “Listen, why don’t you go home, pretend this never happened. And stop sneaking around in the middle of the night, don’t make your mom worry.” Shaw didn’t miss Gen flinch when she mentioned ‘home.’ _

_ “My mom’s in prison. In Russia.” Tears started to form around the girl’s eyes, and Shaw was sure she could not deal with it if the kid full on bawled. _

_ “Geez kid…” _

_ “And my grandfather’s dead, cause he didn’t let the Russians use his shop. And now they’re back in my building, and there’s no one. No one’s here anymore. Even Daredevil left.” _

_ Maybe Shaw prayed a little too hard when Gen started sobbing, because a certain man in a suit appeared then, and she found herself looking at a rather distinctive red helmet two weeks later, having made a deal with the devil. _

_ “You’re not making me wear this,” Shaw spat. _

_ “It’s protective. And it’s the color of the hoodie you were wearing,” Reese replied, the beginnings of a mischievous smirk on his face. It was a shitty look on him. _

_ “That wasn’t even mine,” she pouted.  _

_ Shaw hated nights off.     _

* * *

Detective Carter always seemed to be working, or at least she never seemed to catch a break. The woman was sharp, though, and spotted Shaw almost immediately when she showed up to the crime scene. It could have been the ridiculously crimson get up too, but who knows.

“Detective,” Shaw greeted from the darkness of the fire escape.  

“Haven’t cleaned up a mess like this in a while,” Carter called up to her, “got used to being early.”

“What do you know about this shooter?” Shaw asked.

“Massacre like this, and not one civilian casualty. People are calling this a miracle. I don’t believe in miracles though, two hits and no collateral? It’s on purpose. Someone is trying to send a message to the gangs, a professional,” Carter said.

“You’re telling me this is the work of one person?”

“All the bullets came from the same gun. Could be two. One of them could’ve been the spotter.” Carter squinted up at her, and Shaw shrunk back into the shadow a bit more. The voice changer could only do so much.  “Could they be starting a gang war? Hitting Elias and Dominic so close to each other, got to be guys calling for blood on both sides by now,” Shaw remarked.

“Can’t be sure about anything. We don’t even have a good read on the guy. Only know he’s fast and deadly,” Carter said.

“Thank you.” Shaw turned to leave.

“One last thing,” Carter said, “they’re calling him the Punisher.”

“Strange name.”

“Not as strange as Daredevil,” Carter paused, “they think he’s a copycat. Trying to be like you.”

“I don’t kill,” Shaw murmured. 

“Line gets blurred when we’re talking vigilantes. You disappeared. Maybe someone thought they could take justice into their own hands too. And maybe they were good with a gun.” Carter likes throwing around the ‘v’ word, wouldn’t even let Shaw forget for one conversation. It was less than a year ago when she was still hunting down Reese.  

“We’ll see how good.”

Shaw couldn’t say she was figuring things out, per say. But she could finally beat the sun for the first time that week, and she was going to take a nap and workout with the extra time. Lugging the gym bag full of Daredevil gear up the stairs to her apartment could count as cardio. She should stop skipping cardio.

The first thing she notices when she opens her conspicuously unlocked door, is that her weights were not in the right order. The second was that her bed was actually made.

“Missed me?”

* * *

 

Shaw peered down at the building across the street. Reese had come through again with the names of some people that were about to catch bullets. There were quite a bit of bullets in the mafia stronghold she was looking at, though, especially since Elias’s scar-faced friend had gone into lockdown there. He was one of thirteen names that had come up. Shaw didn’t know where Reese got his intel, and he hasn’t been wrong yet, but the place was crawling with such well armed- and not at all innocent- men that part of her thought she was wasting her time. She’d seen the detective’s notes on the warehouse crime scene, but to think that it was one guy seemed a stretch. 

Time wasting and some myth inspiring vigilante aside, she was glad to be out on a rooftop for once. That morning had been distinctly annoying, to say the least. Shaw frowned as she thought of a smirking someone that had gotten into her stash of good scotch.

_ “What the hell are you doing here?” Shaw said, kicking her gym bag under the couch. _

_ “I’m sorry?” The woman at her counter turned around nonchalantly, smiling as if she was not in fact an intruder. _

_ “You will be.” Shaw stomped over and grabbed the glass from her hand. _

_ “Ah, my hearing is not what it used to be, Sameen, a lot can change in two years,” she gestured to Shaw’s work clothes and name tag, “can’t really discern what people are saying behind me, it’s just a noise.” _

_ “Sorry. Let me repeat myself: get the hell out,  _ Root _ ,” Shaw spat. _

_ “You’re still mad-” _

_ “I’m not mad,” Shaw huffed, “what do you want?” _

_ “Why do I have to want something?” Root asked sweetly. _

_ “Because I’m not stupid,” Shaw replied unimpressed. _

_ “Absolutely true,” Root said, flicking the name tag on her chest, “things seemed to get interesting in town, I just wanted to catch up.” _

_ Shaw glared at her and took off the tag, “When did you get back?” _

_ “Never left. You just didn’t come looking.” Not the case for Root, who had apparently had enough time to look through Shaw’s cabinets to find the 40 year old bottle she was saving. Not that Shaw minded coming home to a good drink, especially with the week she was having. She let Root retrieve another glass, and pour her a double. _

_ “Why would I have done that?” She asked and took a sip, studying the taller woman from behind the glass. _

Sounds of gunfire jolted Shaw out of her thoughts. It came from further down the street where a black SUV was pinned down by several hostiles with automatics. It was the Brotherhood. Several guards emerged from the bunker, it seemed the car was one of theirs. She wasn’t here to stop some gang dispute, and the skirmish was a distraction if she ever saw one. The mafia stronghold was now unguarded and open for an intruder to slip in to make easy work of the rest.

Shaw was only met with one guard slipping in. She tried to find her way to the inner office that Elias’ lieutenant had most likely hidden himself away in. The sounds of a scuffle had her hurrying up the stairs. It seemed the Punisher had beat her to the punch, as she found the scar-faced man sprawled on the floor, bloodied and struggling to breathe. His assaulter was nowhere to be found. The Punisher was a ghost.

“Who did this? Did you see his face?” Shaw propped the man up, and checked his wounds. He’ll live. If assassination was the goal, the Punisher has failed. The fighting had fallen back on the building, sounds of men retreating while holding off assailants came from the lower levels.

“Those idiots. They led them straight in,” the wounded man grunted between ragged breaths.

“Tell me. Why are the gangs being targeted? What is this man’s goal?” Shaw asked.

The scarred man gave her a long hard look, then sighed, “Find Elias. Tell him to stop fighting the Brotherhood. We’re being used. We-”

“Well, well, Anthony, I was going to let you live,” a well-dressed man appeared from behind the bookcase holding a large binder, the hidden room behind him was lined with weapons, documents, and a safe. “But you decided to be chatty.”

“ _ You’re _ the Punisher? I imagined you taller,” Shaw said, sizing up the Brit, she didn’t expect the Punisher to be a slick, smirking suit.

“God no, that fellow is barbarous,” he replied.

“Damn you, Lambert. You’re going to get what’s coming,” Anthony struggled to his feet, steadying himself on a chair.

“As much as I’d love to be a part of this couple’s spat, I’m in a hurry. What the hell is going on here?” Shaw asked.

“Oh right. You don’t know me. It’s true then, that the devil has been replaced. Send my regards to your predecessor,” Lambert said and turned to Anthony, “my business here is done, and after this my employer won’t require your services any longer. I’ll leave him be, Daredevil, that’s why you’re here isn’t it, to save this man? You wouldn’t mind if I take my leave.” Shaw shrugged to give him the go ahead, and he turned to leave.

“You have to get that manifest from him,” Anthony protested. 

“Why? I don’t give a shit how much you’ll lose out to the Brotherhood,” Shaw said.

“You don’t understand. It’s not the Brotherhood,  _ they’re _ the ones stoking the flames between us. If Decima gets their hands on our next shipment…” Anthony muttered, sliding back down to the floor.

“Decima, huh?” Shaw asked.

“Please. Get that manifest,” he said.

“Fine.”

Shaw jogged down the stairs, and found Lambert in a scuffle with some of the guys that had retreated back into the base. He smirked at her.

“Anthony changed your mind?” he asked.

“I’m a curious soul. What’s so special about this next shipment?” Shaw replied.

“You know what they say about curiosity.” Lambert shot out the keypad on the door, and a wave of Brotherhood soldiers flooded in behind his opponents. He dodged the scuffling bodies, and slipped out the door. Shaw followed close in pursuit, side stepping as the last of the Brotherhood stormed the bunker. 

She heard it before she felt it. A blast from in the building sent both her and Lambert sprawling into the street, just avoiding the blaze that followed. The sounds of injured men, and the scent of burning flesh filled the air.

“Hm,” Lambert dusted himself off, standing over Shaw, “an electronic signal attached to a Brotherhood cellphone that set off the bomb in the safe room. This  _ Punisher _ is clever.” He looked up and around the buildings surrounding them, where a certain vigilante must have been watching just moments earlier. “Unfortunately, I must make my leave. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

Shaw turned over onto her back, and stared up at the sky where a plume of smoke was rising. She felt blood rolling down the side of her face that had hit the concrete.

“Shaw, are you okay?” Reese came in on the earpiece in the helmet. 

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I failed, they’re all dead. And the Punisher got away. I didn’t even see a shadow, this guy is a ghost.” She laid her head back, and closed her eyes, just for a second. She needed a break. The day had turned out as shitty as the start.     

_ Root hadn’t changed much in two years, the leather jacket and irritating tendency to get what she wanted were still the same. Two glasses sat on the counter, and a half empty bottle behind them. Having to listen to Root talk about her last two years, while deflecting increasingly personal- for the sake of pissing Shaw off- questions was quite draining. In the ‘has to be washed down with liquor’ sense. In the end, Shaw had garnered no real idea of what Root had been up to, and felt that she had showed her hand in the absence of having any real answers. So, just the same as before. _

_ It was when they had moved to the couch somewhere along the way, and Root was sat more horizontally with a flushed face and comfortable smile, that Shaw had the sense to have said, “You can’t stay here.” _

_ “Okay,” Root replied, sitting up again, “I’ll just wave down a taxi at four in the morning.” _

_ “You’ll be fine, crime’s been down lately,” Shaw remarked callously. _

_ “Oh yes, the friendly crime fighter of Hell’s Kitchen,” Root said sweetly, “tell me about the vigilante.” _

_ “Which one?” The paper had recently published a front page piece on the bloodbath at the warehouse, complete with the killer’s ominous moniker and all. It read like a conspiracy theorist’s dream journal, connecting the murders with the success of Daredevil last year. The paper was desperate for renewed relevance it seemed, since it was beaten to the punch on naming the new vigilante this time around. _

_ “The horny one,” Root replied, leaning in conspiratorially with finger horns next to her temples. It made her look like an idiot, obviously. Maybe Shaw stared too long-in awe of how dumb she looked- because she clarified, “Tell me about Daredevil.” _

_ “Crazy. Jackass.” _

_ “That’s it? No fuzzy feelings about being protected as you walk the streets?” Root asked. _

_ “I don’t need protection. Especially not from an asshole with a costume fetish that thinks that pun is funny,” Shaw said, just now acutely aware of the gym bag under the couch they were on.  _

_ “That’s specific. You put a lot of thought into that,” Root noted with a laugh. _

_ Shaw rolled her eyes, “Can’t not think of the douchebag that keeps the ER beds filled and my ass working overtime.” _

_ “You should be thankful. You’re employed and relevant,” Root said. _

_ “You  _ would _ defend that weirdo,” Shaw scoffed. The glass she was holding was suddenly very interesting, and Root seemed to have the same idea because she took a long swig before looking up again. _

_ “Isn’t it more efficient that way? When a crime has clearly been committed, and someone is clearly wronged. It’s justice,” Root said looking for eye contact she wouldn’t get. _

_ “You already know my answer to that,” Shaw murmured. _

_ “Daredevil saves people. Same as you,” Root pressed. _

_ “Not the same as me. I save whoever comes in front of me. What Daredevil does is replace a wrong with a wrong. It’s a pareto equilibrium. Someone is always worse off. Daredevil actively makes that decision for people,” Shaw countered. _

_ “Do no harm, right, Dr. Shaw?” Root asked bitterly, “Is that preferable? Inaction?” _

_ “How you do, matters.” _

_ “I suppose that’s true. I wonder if Daredevil thinks it through so thoroughly, when a bank robber is holding someone at gunpoint,” Root said. _

_ “Bank robbers tell people ‘don’t be a hero’ for a reason,” Shaw shrugged. _

_ “Then they have to think about it,” Root nodded in agreement, “you know what, I think I’ve figured out Daredevil’s secret.” Shaw had forgotten how much of a close talker Root can be when she leaned closer, smelling of leather and whiskey. _

_ “Doesn’t think things through?” Shaw guessed. _

_ “Maybe he did. He disappeared for six months, right? Then came back, and hurt a bunch of guys pretty badly before leveling out, so I’ve read. There was a learning curve. It’s two different people. Heroes don’t take vacations,” Root said with a victorious smile. _

_ “And the other guy?” Shaw asked, wondering what Reese would think of that conclusion. _

_ “He thought it through,” Root said simply.  _

_ “Well, this one’s a dumbass then,” Shaw concluded, “if you read all this up, you didn’t really need me to catch you up.” _

_ “It’s just the only thing you talked about. I actually wanted to catch up on Sameen Shaw,” Root said with a laugh. _

_ “Well currently, I’m looking at going to work drunk,” Shaw said, but finished her drink anyways. _

_ Root did the same, and sighed, “So, you’re a doctor, Sameen. Was it everything you hoped it would be?” _

* * *

 

||Two years ago||

_ “Well you sure seem down about something.”  _

_ Someone had decided to intrude on her stay-away bubble. Shaw would have to work on her glare and broody slouch tactic, it seemed. “What's it to you?” She looked glasses-black-nail-polish up and down, and sighed conspicuously. The woman looked lost, to have a smile like that in a bar like the one they were in. _

_ “Pretty girl getting drunk by herself. Those boys in the back have been eyeing you all night.” Which meant that she had been too. _

_ “I can handle them,” she replied dismissively. _

_ “I'm sure you can.” The tall woman took the adjacent seat, and drummed her fingers on the bar. ”So what do you do?” _

_ “Save people,” she replied wryly. _

_ “How noble,” leather-jacket-pearly-whites remarked, “You're a doctor then?” _

_ Shaw acknowledged her for the first time, narrowing her eyes. _

_ “You’re wearing comfortable shoes, and kind of smell like hospital,” the woman pointed out. _

_ “Maybe not suited to that job, after all,” Shaw admitted truthfully. Maybe the whisky was getting to her. _

_ “And why's that?” _

_ Shaw remembered to glare again, and replied, “You don’t have anything better to do?” _

_ “You’re interesting.”   _

_ “You’re not.”  _

_ The woman’s grin only grew bigger, she raised a brow and bit her bottom lip. “Try me.”  _

_ “You think you know people, maybe you think you’re better than them. Smirking at the world like you know some secret no one’s in on. But you’re the one sitting alone at a bar, desperately trying to convince me to talk to you with nothing interesting to share.” Shaw turned back to her drink, a smile playing at her lips. _

_ “I could surprise you.” Bespectacled-and-persistent leaned in challengingly, picked up Shaw’s drink and took a small sip. _

_ “And I could punch you in the face.” Shaw grabbed her drink and wiped at the offending lipstick stain with her sleeve. _

_ “Oh, but you wouldn’t. You’re put together, well-educated, have a dignified job. You’re doing everything exactly right. You’re so pretty and clean, it’s hard to notice, but you look damn bored. Nothing, and no one is interesting, by design. You’ve already put yourself in a neat little box. Maybe you’re a coward. Maybe you let people decide what’s right. But brooding over a glass won’t give you what you really want.”   _

_ “You really are desperate, you called me pretty twice,” Shaw noted. _

_ The woman’s confident grin faltered for the first time that night. “It’s the Unexpected...by the way.” _

_ Shaw rolled her eyes at the line. _

_ “Call me Root.” The smile was back. _

_ Shaw thought for a moment, she hoped Root didn’t think she won that, because then she’d be as dumb as her name. “Sam Shaw.” _

_ “Hey, ladies. Got pretty heated over here, do you need someone to break it up?” Two bikers sidled over, red-faced and dumb drunk. _

_ Shaw ignored them in favor of looking for the bartender to get another drink, and saw the other woman scoff and head straight to the door.  _

_ “What a bitch,” one of the bikers said, and took the vacated seat. _

_ The bartender was nowhere to be found. So with nothing better to do, Shaw took a fist to the man’s face.  _

_ “Coward, my ass.” She left the bar rubbing her knuckles, because human faces are a lot harder than they looked, especially the ugly ones. She had one foot off the sidewalk, when the roar of an engine and a yellow blur came around the corner.  _

_ “So is Sam short for something or...?” Root revved the half million dollar car, and Shaw only smirked. _

* * *

Somehow Root had been crashing on her couch for a week now. It wasn’t like they were living together. Shaw wasn’t even home most nights. And Root certainly didn’t have a key, she was just an inconvenience- one that left everyday when Shaw did and locked up behind her when she went out at night. So when locking up after the two of them that morning, with a coffee she found on the counter when she woke up in the other hand, Shaw didn’t really need to find Reese in the darkness of the stairwell brooding at her. It soured the whole non-roommate, free coffee pleasantness of her morning. 

“So… You made a friend, Shaw?” Shaw dreaded the idea that he’d been waiting longer than five minutes, but also got distracted by the thought of six minutes ago.

“I'd say grow up, but you're already the size of a small tree,” Shaw said.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Reese replied impassively, but the look only annoyed her more.

“What?” She asked, crossing her arms defensively.

“Nothing.” Reese said, “It was unexpected, is all. We watched you for awhile before we gave you the suit. Part of the reason we chose you…”

He trailed off at the look she gave him, and cleared his throat.

“Not that there were other candidates,” he admitted, “but from experience, it’s better not to get attached to anyone, doing this gig.” 

“Well, I’m not you. And I’m not attached,” Shaw said.

“Shaw, the game is different when you care about someone. You have enemies now. They could use people that know you, know your face, to get to you. That’s why we sent Genrika upstate. If this woman means something to you, keep her as far away from your work as you can,” he warned.  

“Her name is Gen. And I guess it’s not all about helping people, is it?” Shaw asked, with a defiant look. He’d been on her back since she let Elias’ lacky die. It was bad enough having him hover with the suit on, but showing up in broad daylight was just a pain. 

“It’s about staying alive to continue helping people,” he replied.

“That’s rich coming from you. I wouldn’t be camping out on rooftops at night, if you didn’t  _ abandon _ everyone. People like Gen, who needed you. And the best part is, they’re blaming this whole Punisher shit show on you. Except now it’s me.” She really was sick of him. Of the papers, with their fickle position on vigilantes, and the dumbass DA talking about task forces. The same people that turned a blind eye when the Russians ran the city.

He frowned and said levelly, “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit,” she stared him down from below, “You told me to mind my own business, mind yours.”

Reese closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He said, “Jessica. I knew her from before, too. Before the mask. She died because I let her get too close to Daredevil.” She didn’t know how he could know about her history with Root, but she hated hypocrites.

“So you can dig into my past, but I just get an ominous sob story from yours?” She said, “Tell me the rest of it.”

He looked like he was going to refuse, his jaw tensed in a grimace. She’d never seen him like this. He sighed, “She was an ex. Her husband owed money to the Russians. She didn't even know, and she wrote those articles that blew their operation in the NYPD wide open. I knew, I did, but I thought I could protect her. Her husband skimped on a payment, and they decided to cross off two inconveniences at once.” 

Shaw looked away, “I remember. The ER was a mess when they came in. The Russians didn't care who got caught in the attack.” 

“I met her, let her take that picture of me just the week before. Out of some perverse sense of victory. Like I had a side of Jessica he didn't have. She caught bullets because I couldn't stay away,” he finished lamely.

“I’m sorry. You can't save everyone, I already learned that lesson elsewhere. You got distracted, but that’s not what’s happening here,” she said, looking him in the eyes, “Back off, Reese.”

She continued down the stairs, and threw away the coffee, she wasn't feeling it anymore and it had gone cold anyways. Thankfully, her shifts at the hospital went by quickly and didn't require too much caffeine. 

Come nightfall, she was ready for a rematch with the Punisher, even looked forward to getting her hands a bit dirty. Elias’ number had come up, and his position in a derelict motel was both poorly defended and open to multiple points of attack. It was an obvious trap. Time will tell if the Punisher bites.

“Aren't you talkative today,” Shaw remarked when Reese called her. The earpiece in her helmet was an annoying reminder that they were always listening.

“Anything?” Reese asked, obviously trying to avoid rehashing the unpleasant topics of the morning, which was fine by her.

“Elias is pretty serious about killing the Punisher if he’s using himself as bait. He has more guys holed up a couple blocks down, but if this guy works as fast as Carter says he does, they’ll be there in time to watch their boss bleed out,” Shaw replied.

“Which won’t happen, because you’re there, right Shaw?” Reese asked wryly.

“I don’t know. Weapons, drugs, human trafficking, not sure anyone will miss this guy.” She peered into her binoculars for the upteenth time. Elias hadn’t moved, and neither had she, which was a problem because she would soon be frozen to the spot.

“There are worse alternatives,” Reese replied.

“Always the pessimist,” she chided. She surveyed the surrounding area, if only to have something to do. A lone figure was making their way up the street.

“Reese, I think I got something,” she said, watching the large man-armed with only a single rifle- walk calmly up to Elias’ base, “No way, he’s just strolling to the front door.”

The man took out the three guards in the front in the time it took to narrate to Reese. He was in the base sending out a wave of gunshot sounds, before her feet even touched the ground, hurrying down the fire escape. 

She stepped over several bodies, and dodged a man he’d thrown down the stairs coming up to the third floor. Shaw narrowly avoided the butt of his rifle as she rounded the corner, coming face to face with a bald, heavy-set man. She stood in front of the staircase leading to the top floor.

“Not today, big guy,” Shaw said.

He raised the rifle, but she was faster. She grabbed the barrel, pushing it away, and kneed him in the groin. He nearly buckled, but steadied himself, and threw her off easily, just by the sheer difference in their mass. He turned to head up the stairs. She jumped onto him, and put him in a chokehold from behind, and he stumbled backwards. He was about to back them into a window, so she kicked the back of his knee until he fell forward, and she rolled away. 

Footsteps came down from the upper floor, and Elias emerged brandishing a handgun. His to-be assassin was faster to the draw, and Shaw barely had time to tackle him out the window, his bullets glancing the wall by Elias’ head. They landed heavily onto a dumpster. Shaw got off the him, dusting herself off. He wasn’t going anywhere, his tibia poked out from his knee.

“Shit, this is not worth twenty grand,” he grunted.

“What are you talking about?” Shaw asked, already dreading the answer. Of course it wasn’t going to be this easy.

He stared past her up to the top floor. She broke into a run, and found Elias at the bottom of the stairs, gut shot and bleeding out fast.

“My laptop,” he grunted, before passing out. 

She hesitated for a second, but figured stopping the Punisher would save more lives. She ran up to the office, but the laptop was already gone. The Punisher had escaped out the fire escape, and was a small hooded figure retreating into the darkness. Shaw grabbed a handgun sitting on the desk, and shot twice. The figure stumbled for a second, but turned the corner and was gone.

“Reese, I hope you have an ambulance on the way, Elias needs immediate attention,” Shaw muttered. She climbed down the fire escape and traced the Punisher’s path.

“They’re two minutes away. And the Punisher?” Reese replied.

“Gone, but I think I nicked him,” she said, studying the small blood splatter on the ground.

“Okay, you better get out of there Shaw,” he said.

“Right. And I have work in an hour. You’re buying me breakfast,” she said.

Free coffee is always the best coffee, Shaw decided as she strode into Metro-General an hour later. The emergency room was bustling, and she caught glimpses of injured mafia, but Elias was surely in a more secure location. She ran into Cole leading a tall man to a pair of waiting cops.

“Busy morning, Dr. Shaw. Got one waiting for you already,” he said as he walked by.

Shaw nodded and downed her coffee in one go, and pulled on some gloves. She stepped through the divider, and was met with a too-bright smile. It was way too early for this, and no amount of coffee could make her a morning person.

“Hey sweetie, I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it home last night,” Root said cheerily, “I hope you didn’t wait up.”

Shaw ground her teeth. She whispered angrily, “I told you not to visit me at work, Root.”

“I know, but I’m actually here because I need some attention from a doctor, Dr. Shaw,” Root said, taking off her coat.

Shaw’s face darkened. “Root,” she muttered. She glared at the fresh bullet wound on Root’s shoulder.

“Patch me up?” Root gave her, her signature grin.


	2. The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw is not one to work closely with people, and tensions arise when there are people's lives at stake.

_ The last three weeks hanging around Root was not so bad. She got to drive, and it was a nice car at that. Plus Root had an appreciation for good food, and paid most of the time. It was definitely worth all the words. Root liked the sound of her own voice, so much was apparent. _

_ “Let’s do something,” Root called over from the closet.  _

_ Shaw wasn’t sure what Root hoped to find, all that was there was a sea of dark colors. Shaw didn’t keep any skeletons around, and the closet was much too obvious a place, if she did. Root liked digging into people’s things, but Shaw didn’t have much energy to object. She rubbed her temples, and tried to find a cooler spot on the bed. _

_ “Let’s be quiet for five minutes,” she muttered. Post-coital Root was too loud, too energetic, too much. A soft gasp followed by laughter came from the next room, and Shaw wanted to groan. _

_ “What is this?” Root emerged from the closet wearing a black tank top emblazoned with a dripping silver skull, looking much too amused. She hadn’t put on pants like she said she would. _

_ “I don’t know, some girl probably left that here,” Shaw replied dismissively. _

_ “Must have been some girl, if you kept it.” Root raised a brow suggestively.  _

_ “Didn’t even know I had it. Probably blended in with the color scheme too much.” _

_ Root put a knee on the bed, and leaned over Shaw with an insufferable smile. “I sense excuses. What’d she do, Sameen? We only keep the things that hurt us.” The woman had a knack for close talking and thinking too deeply into things that have no meaning beyond the surface. _

_ “So nothing hurts you then. Didn’t even keep your identity. Unless your mother seriously named you for a type of vegetable,” Shaw shot back. _

_ “Oh Sam, you get so philosophical with your carrot humor,” Root said with a laugh. _

_ “Whatever.” _

_ “I like it, I’m keeping it.” Root pulled on her jacket, and smiled at herself in the mirror. She looked like a try-hard rocker stuck in her teen years, especially with the black nail polish, and Shaw said as much. _

_ “That’s weirdly specific,” Root teased, “I wouldn’t find that in your internet search history, would I?” _

_ “No.” Shaw grumbled, “You dig into everything, don’t you?” _

_ “My mom told me to follow my talents,” Root said. _

_ “Mine told me to be a doctor. Classic child of immigrants experience.” Shaw sat up as Root walked towards the bed again. _

_ “You don’t talk about your parents much,” Root noted. _

_ “They’re dead. There’s nothing to say.” _

_ Root looked like she wanted to say more, but only nodded. She got back in bed and laid her head on Shaw’s lap. It earned her a glare, and a pillow to the face.  _

_ Root gave her a grin. And Shaw rolled her eyes, she wasn't going to get her nap anytime soon. She looked away when Root’s gaze got a bit too searching, too thoughtful.  _

_ “My mom was sick for a long time,” Root admitted after a pause. _

_ Shaw couldn’t understand what the other woman, whose home she’d never been in and who had a questionable number of identities, hoped to achieve by telling her this. Some sort of intimacy? Surely, there was an expected reaction to something like this. People always wanted to divulge some kind of truth from simple facts. Often, they are not one and the same.  _

_ “Mine too,” she replied honestly. _

_ Root sat up and Shaw could see the gears turning behind her eyes. When Root had that look, she always felt like a puzzle being pieced together without a reference. Shaw wanted to tell her that some pieces simply had no connections.   _

_ Root asked, “Is that why you wanted to be a doctor?” _

_ “I just told you why,” she answered. _

_ “Hm.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “You just seemed like a woman with your own ambitions. Know what you want.” Root ran a hand down her arm playfully, the subject seemingly dropped. Which was fine by her, preferable even. _

_ “Sorry to disappoint,” Shaw said, holding her gaze. _

_ And then Root straddled her hips, so she forgot the blossoming realization that it was more than she’d told anyone in ten years. It wasn’t something she was used to. People had usually left by then, if she hadn’t already. _

* * *

 

_ Maybe she would have seen it coming. If she had reacted accordingly to the pieces, the small truths that spilled out in the next weeks, if she’d just gathered them up, perhaps New Rochelle would not have happened.  _

_ “Don’t tell me this is yours,” Shaw muttered as she pulled into the outrageously long driveway, overlooked by a mansion and one of those obnoxious naked baby fountains. _

_ “Why not? It matches the car.” Root got out, and walked up to the house in long strides that certainly made her look at home. _

_ “Probably cause I haven’t seen you use credit cards with the same name once in two months,” Shaw replied wryly. _

_ “People usually have a larger reaction to that,” Root replied, poking at the keypad at the front door, fifth time’s the charm. “There, we’re in. Welcome home.” _

_ “I don’t really care when there’s a dry aged steak in front of me.” Shaw stayed where she was on the porch, even as Root turned around expectantly. _

_ “What? You want me to carry you over the threshold?” Root teased. _

_ “Who’s house is this, Root?” _

_ “Relax. They’re out. There’s no car in the driveway.” Root took her arm, and led her in. “Come on. You seemed like you needed a break this week.” _

_ She had gone and talked again. It was happening more often, sometimes even without being preceded by sex. A pretty useless exercise in vulnerability, to be honest. Nothing was going to change, no matter how much she complained about work, about the doctors who didn’t know what they were doing, that got scared, that didn’t care. How Root got that she wanted to go on a day trip out of the city from that, she couldn’t fathom. _

_ She asked that a lot. What she wanted. Maybe Root was always wanting something, and was projecting, because Shaw never really asked herself that question. To part of her it was clear what was happening. Why she followed this annoying and challenging woman with eyes that were always hungry, wanting, into cars not registered to her, into homes that matched the cars and not her slouch. Shaw had everything in order, pinned up neat and tidy, and in a year’s time she’ll be done with her residency, directive figures, fulfilling her mother’s expectations. Root was the universe sending her its obligatory dose of chaos. She had promised the unexpected, after all.     _

_ And Root would have her throw it all away, and in the same breath claim she was holding onto something, like an old tank top or a career meticulously crafted from years of labor. None of it actually mattered. Just like it didn’t matter that she had told Root her middle name and that her mother died in an ER where they couldn’t do much but ease her pain.Whatever meaning Root gathered from it didn’t mean anything, much like the act of saying those words. Like Root whispering, ‘We could go away, and live like this,’ her face, her whole body flushed as she kissed and marked Shaw’s collarbone. An overture she didn’t understand. Like ‘you look bored,’ or ‘what do you want?’  _

_ So she found herself in a stranger’s bed, drinking their prosecco and scotch, and wondering what it was that she really wanted. A door outside opened and slammed shut. _

_ Root was up first, pulling on her pants slowly, unbothered by the idea of being caught breaking and entering. “Looks like we have company.” _

_ “You said they were out, Root.” Shaw caught the clothes tossed her way, and dragged them on. _

_ “That was quite a few hours ago, you took too long raiding the fridge,” Root said. _

_ “And you just had to play with all their electronics.” Shaw rolled her eyes. _

_ “I was just making sure.” _

_ “Making sure what?” _

_ “Let’s go.” Root picked up the bottle of prosecco, and lead the way. _

_ Before Shaw could ask if she was really going to use it as a weapon, Root had already rounded the corner and smashed the bottle in a man’s face. Wine mingled with a bit of blood on the floor, and Root picked up the handgun that had fallen in the puddle. The man groaned and turned to face them, entirely unaffected by the fact that his assaulter and trespassers were holding him at gunpoint. _

_ “What the hell?” Shaw looked at the scene before her: certainly unexpected.  _

_ “You don’t know him, do you?” Root asked. _

_ “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me about him,” she replied. _

_ “Daniel Wilson, 47, officially he’s a contractor, but he’s actually an operator for an illegal private military group operating in the US. He runs this very safe house we’re in.” Root motioned with the gun, and had Wilson lead them to the dining room. And of course there were zipties in the drawer. Shaw gave her a hard look when Root tasked her with tying him to a chair. _

_ “The point being?” Shaw asked, doing what she was told. Wilson studied her face without putting up much resistance, and she wondered where she’d heard that name before. _

_ Root continued, “Ten years ago, he came home from his second tour in the Middle East and took a job in the VA. He was fired two years later, do you know why?” _

_ The restrained man barked a short laugh as he looked between the two of his captors. _

_ “Root. Stop, I know where this is going.” Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. She walked away, turning back to glare at Root accusingly. “You had no right to go looking when I tell you things.” _

_ Root followed, and put a hand on her forearm. “I listened to those recordings, Shaw. There were dozens. Some quality assurance agent probably did too, and didn't think anything was wrong with him, until someone decided to sue. And all he got was a fat severance check.”  _

_ “Shaw? Why do I know that name?” Wilson murmured from the chair. _

_ “Shut up,” Shaw spat. She looked at Root, still armed with the stolen handgun. “What do you want me to do, huh? Shoot him between the eyes?” _

_ “You can shoot him whereever you want,” Root replied with a casual shrug. _

_ “Shaw… you wouldn’t be the LT’s kid would you?” _

_ “I said shut up.” Shaw tugged on the sleeve of the taller woman’s jacket. “Root, let's just get out of here.” _

_ Root furrowed her brows, taking a couple steps away, toward Wilson. “This man caused the unnecessary death of almost twenty people. He chose who he wanted to help. He blocked your mother's access to healthcare until it was too late, and probably many other military spouses and vets. He's disgusting.” _

_ “And yet it's not your revenge to take. And I'm not about to.” Shaw’s reply had Wilson in another fit of laughter. _

_ “What's so funny?” Root asked with a smile. _

_ “You know what you don't understand? I've seen shit you can't even imagine. You're both dead. I'm not scared of you. A couple of kids playing house,” Wilson said with a sneer. _

_ “You should be,” Root replied cheerily. _

_ Wilson looked a bit unnerved at her demeanor, and turned to Shaw instead. “You know, your old man. I trained under him before I shipped out. They were always going on about how he saved his crew clearing a LZ all by himself. Acted like the man was indestructible, and yet he died cause of a faulty tire. Human after all. It was the meds, wasn't it? He wasn't right in the head. Good riddance. He was the most self righteous son of a bitch I ever met.” He grinned when that got her attention. _

_ She strode calmly up to him, “Say that again.” Shaw hit him, and watched head jerk back. _

_ “You don't know anything little girl.” Again, breaking his nose. It only seemed to energize him. “You’re dead. They won’t be able put either of you back together, once I’m done with you. You haven’t seen shit. I've seen my brothers dying. Saw meat coming out of where their faces were.” _

_ “Yeah and you screwed over the ones that made it home,” Shaw muttered. _

_ “War is hell. I've looked the devil in the eyes. You don't know what this godforsaken country owes me.” _

_ “Your problem is that you think the world owes you anything,” Root chimed in. _

_ “They threw us in there, told us we were the good guys. Didn't mention we’d be treated like invaders by the people we were helping. That our so called allies would change sides every day,” he spat. _

_ “You don’t get to talk about loyalty. You let other vets die, your so called brothers,” Shaw replied. _

_ “Not my brothers. Not the real Americans. Your people showed their true face didn’t they? Go ahead then. Prove me right,” Wilson sneered. _

_ Root stepped in then, still holding the gun, a dangerous look on her face. “You don’t get to entertain the idea that your opinion matters. You’re scum.” _

_ “Say it. Tell me what you told my mother,” Shaw ordered. “Tell me what you said when all she needed was some help.” _

_ “‘Why? You're the enemy.’” Wilson said, a challenge in his eyes.  _

_ And Shaw was happy to oblige. She hit him until his smirk was gone, and his head lulled to the side, knocked out. _

_ “Finish him Shaw.” Root offered her the gun. _

_ “No, I already said I'm not killing him.” _

_ “You said I think I'm better than people. But I think you just don't want to admit it. Maybe some people are better than others. I think you are. I think you know you are,” Root began. _

_ “We're here today because this guy thought some people are worth more than others. I'm not playing god.” Shaw pushed the gun away. _

_ Root gave her an incredulous look. She took Shaw’s hand, and murmured breathily, “You want this. You’re angry. I knew you were different from the moment I saw you. I know you.” _

_ “I thought, that you could have,” Shaw admitted. She picked up the landline, and dialled emergency services. “A man at this address needs immediate medical attention.” _

_ When she turned around, Root was gone. _

* * *

 

||2 years later||

“So you just let her waltz out of there?” 

“What the hell was I supposed to say? ‘No officers, she wasn't mugged, she shot your kingpin. I was there, I was the one that shot her.’” Shaw crossed her arms defensively. The alley behind the hospital was littered with cigarettes, and the smell of stale tobacco made her throat dry up.

“She's a mass murderer, Shaw. You patched her up and sent her on her way.” Reese rubbed his temples pointedly.

“We don't have proof anyways, Reese. We need to take her down in the act.” Shaw said. 

“If you think you can do that,” he muttered.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“She was your roommate for over a week, and you didn't notice she was homicidal? She obviously knew about  _ your _ nightly hobby. I told you to keep her at arm's length from our work. And she was brazen enough to come here.” Reese grimaced. “Were you just ignoring the signs? She showed up the same time the Punisher did.”

“I don't suspect everyone I ever meet of murder, Reese,” she shot back.

“You went into it knowing what she was capable of. You let her go, wouldn’t be the first time,” he spat.

She furrowed her brows. “Say that again.”

“Shaw,” Reese warned, physically stepping back as if to take back what he hadn’t meant to say.

“So you already knew. Why am I not surprised?” She glared up at him, and nodded expectantly.

Reese looked away, clearing his throat. “Two years ago, your name came up. We know what you did in New Rochelle.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Shaw noted.

“I know. It was before my time. Seems you didn’t need anyone to step in. But it doesn’t change the fact that Root is dangerous,” he replied.

Shaw ground her teeth. “You knew, and you didn’t have the sense to tell me?”

“We were being cautious,” he said lamely.

“You were being self-serving. It’s not going to work like this. I want to know who’s in charge, and I want to know how you get your information,” she said. “And if you have any doubts that I  _ will do _ what’s necessary to stop Root, you can go screw yourself, Reese.” 

She went back in the hospital, slamming the alley door behind her. The day just kept getting better, when in the middle of her shift, a certain detective came around flashing her badge.

“Can I help you?” Shaw approached her warily.

Detective Carter studied the ER for a moment, and replied, “There is a patient here staying under protection of the DA’s office, I think you know which one. It’s my understanding that there may have been a security leak when he was being worked on in the ER. I’ll need a record of anyone that was working last night, and anyone who came through, as well.”

Shaw looked her in the eyes for a moment. “There’s no security leak.” The detective’s reaction told her all she needed to know. “Sounds to me like the DA’s office isn’t sharing.”

Carter smiled. “Look, Doctor...Shaw. I think we’ve met, is that right?”

“I see hundreds of people a day, usually some cops show up too,” Shaw said.

“Last year, you were working when we hauled in a bunch of Russians,” Carter explained.

“I remember. Your point?” Shaw raised a brow at her. Her challenging replies only seemed to amuse the detective, very different from her no nonsense demeanor towards the mask. Reese was not going to believe this.

“I saw you keep your cool in there. You do good work. Saved some lives. Let me be frank, I’m trying to do the same thing, but I need you to help me,” the detective said.

“It’d be easier to help you, if I knew what this was about,” she said.

“The details are sensitive,” Carter said

“Then get a warrant, detective.” Shaw shrugged.

“Okay, but I don’t think you’d want your hospital dragged through the mud, because right now, I’m investigating how our suspect died just after returning to our custody, after he was treated here,” the detective explained.

“What do you mean?”

“The man we arrested in connection to all the gang murders died in police custody thirty minutes after getting the green light here, doctor. Someone dropped the ball. But the DA’s office wants to wrap the case, so they’re just going to pin all the charges on a dead guy, without asking themselves who’d benefit from us not being able to question him,” Carter said with a frown.

“The gangs have plenty of motive to off him,” Shaw offered.

“But I think you’re thinking the same thing as me. I think you  _ know _ the gangs aren’t the ones with the most to gain,” the detective concluded.

“He’s not the right guy,” Shaw said with a nod.

“Precisely. Whoever is behind these shootings is still at large, and must’ve had access to him directly before his transfer to our custody. I need you to get me those records.” 

“Okay,” Shaw sighed. Unless the detective could somehow pick out Root’s alias from the bunch, she wasn’t going to find anything. She thought bitterly about the morning, and wondered how Root had pulled off her assassination in a crowded ER.

That night, she decided to visit Detective Carter to see if she had found anything in the the afternoon. She was not nearly as forthcoming to the mask, as she was to her as a doctor. What exactly was it that made people trust doctors so much?

“Didn’t think I’d ever have my guys guarding Elias, and here we are,” Carter looked up from her coffee. She was getting better at noticing Shaw before the latter could sneak up on her. They were just down the street from the hospital, where Elias was still recovering. He was protected by a small squad of cops the DA had assigned to him, in exchange for becoming a key witness in the Punisher case. 

“Do you have something for me, detective?” Shaw asked, tucked in the shadow of the nearby building.

“Just two dead guys, and a headache.” The detective rubbed her temples.

“Have you interrogated Elias? Does he know why the Punisher is after him?”

“Maybe you could tell me,” Carter narrowed her eyes at her.

“Why would I know that?” Not this again.

“The suspect we arrested yesterday died in custody. We found another body this afternoon, matching the description of a suspicious man leaving the building opposite the Punisher's first hit. They were decoys. You know who was at both places while things were going down?”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I didn’t come to listen to bullshit,” Shaw spat.

“Since you showed up last year, this city has been burning itself to the ground,” Carter muttered. She was frustrated, and Shaw didn’t blame her but she wasn’t about to be a punching bag.

“Didn’t know you enjoyed having the Russians run the town  _ and the cops _ ,” she replied cooly.

“Look what you brought on us instead,” the detective said.

“You’re blaming me?” Shaw scoffed.

“All I know is, the gangs are at war, there’s a mass murdering lunatic running around, and you seem to be at the center of it all,” Detective Carter replied simply.

“I thought you stopped hunting me, cause you know that I haven’t done  _ anything _ other than do your job for you,” Shaw said bitterly.

Carter frowned. “You think you’re doing my job? That you protect people? You’re playing a game. You go home at night, take off that mask and pat yourself on the back. I go home, and I listen to my son say he’s going to ‘do something’ about the kid who wants to bring a gun to school, or the dealers in the park. That’s what you’ve done here. And you’re not the one that lives with the consequences,” the detective said accusingly.

“I guess he doesn’t trust the cops to do their job.” Shaw began to walk away.

“And I can’t trust someone who hides in the dark.”

* * *

 

In the week after her visit with the detective, Shaw had a total of three hours of sleep. She had gotten no closer to finding Root, and only ever showed up in time to drag a couple guys out. The Punisher’s attacks had gotten messier, and the only way to differentiate them with the ongoing war between Elias and Dominic was the lack of collateral damage. The detective hadn’t been answering her phone, and Reese either did not understand the concept of an ultimatum or thought leaving messages instead of meeting her would negate her demands. Hell’s Kitchen had become a battlefield, and Metro-General bore the brunt of the consequences.

“Call it.” Shaw watched the flatline on the screen as she removed her gloves. 

The room emptied, leaving her alone with the Brotherhood soldier, who never really had a chance as he was carted in, and Michael Cole. He glanced up at her between scribbling on the report.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He seemed like the one that needed reassurance. Maybe he would get it somewhere.

“We have another one waiting. Head and neck lacerations, punctured lung. Clean up and meet me there.” She walked past him out of the OR, and was met with the stern features of Dr. Hersh, head of the ER and resident nitpicker.

“You look like shit,” he grumbled.

“You stole the words right out of my mouth,” Shaw shot back.

“You still have time for your little fight club activities? Really, all I ask is for a little professionalism, Shaw. Tell the other guy to go for the kidneys next time, patients don’t want a doctor that looks as screwed up as they are,” Hersh lectured as he followed he to her next patient.

“They don’t really care once they flatline,” Shaw muttered.

“Hey.” He gave her an incredulous glare, but softened up after a moment. “It’s never easy losing one. It’s good you have a way to destress.”

“But ‘go for the kidneys’ right?” Shaw asked, walking away with a smirk. The man sure had a way about him.

She spotted a man in a suit, who didn’t seem to be waiting for the burly man with the punctured lung, out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t stop when Reese caught up to her.

“You only hit two of the three places I told you to be at last night,” he muttered accusingly.

“I was going to be late for work,” she replied nonchalantly.  

“Shaw, people are dying,” he said. As if she wasn’t standing five feet from one of Elias’ minions, who had the bright idea to walk into a fist several times over.

“Exactly. What’s the point? Here, I have a better chance of helping the ones that make it out.” She gestured to the scene behind them, where the staff had resorted to putting some patients on gurneys in the hallway given the lack of space.

“Our information has been spotty. Root is avoiding our source somehow,” he admitted. 

“Ready to share your source?” She smiled bitterly at the look on his face. “Well, I have shit to do, so just leave the names of tonight’s victims and get going.”

That night, she was close. She stormed Root’s hideout overlooking her target in time to smash her laptop before it could start a fire in a Brotherhood safehouse. Root had been there moments before, she was sure.  

She found a couple handguns left behind, and shot out the Brotherhood’s windows to make sure they knew the location was compromised. She found her way to the ground level, and tailed their evacuation party. Four guys with automatics. Usually, she would have called Carter to prepare to round them up, but that was not an option. And Shaw was not above cheating.

She used her found weapons to shoot out two men’s kneecaps, before the others could react. She dove behind a parked car as the hail of bullets began. When they were reloading, a well timed throw of a handgun at one man’s face, bought her enough time to grab the submachine gun and knock him out with the butt of the rifle. She turned it on the last guy as he raised his own gun at her.

“You don’t want to do that. I just saved your asses from a fiery death,” she said.

“Someone takes their namesake too seriously,” he said.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Go to hell.” 

She was slipping. She really was, it was probably the lack of sleep. She didn’t hear the footsteps coming from the right, only the gunshot that followed. The last Brotherhood soldier crumpled to the floor, bleeding out from his chest. It was the closest she had gotten that week to a clean job.

She rounded on the assailant, knocked the gun out of his hand, and had him by the collar. Mafia.

She was two punches in when he sputtered, “I- I’m sorry. I had to. M- my daughter.” 

He let a photo drop into the blood pooling next to them, a face that had dominated the newspapers two days ago smiled up at them. The fourth grader that been a casualty of a gang skirmish near the school just down the street. Shaw let go of him, and he dropped to the floor.

“You were supposed to protect her.”

Shaw turned and walked away without a word. Reese was waiting for her when she got home.

“Shaw,” he began.

“I quit.” She grabbed a coffee mug and the vodka from the back of her freezer.

“Sameen,” Reese tried again.

She rounded on him, and said with a snarl, “None of these people are worth saving. I don’t give a shit what Root’s doing to them. Tell me when you have real victims.”

“Fine.” Reese closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. “I thought you should have this.” He tapped a folder that was on her counter, and left.

* * *

 

Shaw didn’t know what to expect. Going to work with an adequate amount of rest did not lift the weight from her mind. It wasn’t helpful that the ER had been swarmed since the previous night. Wave after wave of mobsters were put in front of her, and it was almost a bit wrong to be relieved when she was met with a crying child. 

The father was more of a mess than the toddler on his lap, who seemed fine save the gash on his forehead. The father had packed a couple toys and snacks, and was trying desperately to distract his child from the pain. She wondered how long they had been waiting, while other patients had taken precedence.

“So, tell me what happened,” she said while pulling on some gloves.

“I had my back turned for a minute, and he fell out of his high chair,” the father mumbled.

She pushed the kid’s hair out of his face and took a closer look. The child stopped sobbing for a moment to stare up at her, distracted with a stranger to observe.

“It’s not too deep, but he will need stitches. You should pay attention to his behavior in the coming days, as a precaution with a head injury at this age. If he’s lethargic or doesn’t eat, bring him back. But it should be fine, kids are tough,” she said. She retrieved a suture kit from a cabinet.

The father let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. It’s really hard to see him hurt, I don’t know what I’d do, you know?” He lifted his son tenderly onto the table and didn’t leave his side.

She gave him a nod, not because she agreed with his blubbering, but thought some reassurance would quell it. A couple yelling voices came from down the hall, and Shaw muttered an apology and excused herself to check on the source of the noise. 

A large man had Cole by the collar, and was trying to get out of his bed despite the cast on his leg. His aim was to get to the incapacitated man in the next bed, who couldn’t do anything but sneer back. How someone had dropped the ball, and put two competing mobsters next to each other was besides her.

“Out of my way before I snap your skinny neck, kid. I’m gonna kill that motherfucker,” the man yelled as Cole tried to hold him down.

Cole let out a sigh of relief when he spotted her calmly walking to the other side of the bed. His look turned to horror, when she raised a scalpel to the angry man’s neck.

“Let go of him,” she ordered. She lowered the knife when he followed suit, and she motioned for Cole to administer a mild sedative. She leaned in and whispered coolly, “I don’t give a shit what happens outside these walls, but as long as you’re here, you live or die by our hands only. You decide, whether you want to take a one-way trip down to the basement, or limp out of here when you get discharged in a couple hours.”

The room had gone silent, and several curious pairs of eyes peeked in, including Hersh, whom save the vein throbbing in his temple seemed as calm as she was. He opened his mouth when she walked past him, but she was faster.

“Don’t say anything,” she muttered, “give me five minutes.”

She returned to the child and father duo, and got to work. The kid resumed crying when he realised what stitches were, and she had to enlist the help of the father to hold him still. It was more difficult for the man than the child, and by the last stitch the crying had stopped. She paged a nurse to give them their discharge papers, and found Hersh hovering by the door.

“Well done,” he grumbled, “you do better than most with the small ones.”

“They smell fear,” she quipped. She looked up at him expectantly, he wasn’t one to let matters go, even in the case of a job well done.

“It’s horrible. Sometimes we have to hurt someone to fix them. Stitches, vaccines, it’s not natural, our bodies were made to heal in due time. But they work, and we save lives. That’s the job,” he said with a frown, “but threatening a patient, Shaw? Really?”

“Regret keeping me around, George?” Shaw asked with a bitter smile.

Hersh sighed. “Why don’t you take a couple days to sort yourself out?”

“You’re suspending me?” She gestured to the packed ER. She was needed.

“I’m giving you some leave,” he corrected. “You’ve taken one day off in four years. And when you came back from that day, you remember what you told me? You said you wanted this, Sameen. This is what you wanted, so I let you stick around. You’re good at what you do, so I didn’t listen to that hack therapist. Think it through. What do you want, Shaw?”


	3. The Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw takes a day trip, but trouble is brewing back home.

One thing about the suburbs, everyone thinks they’re entitled to space. Shaw stared down the sixth grader in front of her, then the empty space next to her, and back. It wasn’t like she was standing in the middle of the staircase. She put a hand on her hip and cleared her throat. The middle schooler rolled her eyes, and walked around her with an exaggerated groan. Shaw did the same. Private school.

Thankfully, Gen appeared soon after. She was carrying a backpack so filled to the brim, that she was hunched over and didn’t notice Shaw until she stepped right in front of her.

“Shaw? What are you doing here?” Gen asked between huffs, and smiled sheepishly when she offered to take her bag.

“I have no obligations,” Shaw said with a shrug. “Are you going camping or something?”

“No,” the girl chuckled nervously, “it’s just the essentials.”

“14 different cassette tapes are essential?” Shaw raised a brow at her, last time cassettes were involved, she was out a hoodie and in a tall, grim menace of a co worker.

“Yes,” Gen answered much too confidently.

“Gen...what are you doing?”

“You wouldn’t believe what the headmaster and his secretary are up to,” she replied with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, I could guess,” Shaw said, rolling her eyes.

“Ew, no. They’re siphoning funds from other school programs into remodelling the football field.” Gen stuck out her tongue in disgust.

“And what are  _ you _ going to do about it?”

“They’re crushing the opposition by picking off the teachers that are against it. It’s Russia all over again. Ms. Garcia’s art class is  _ literally _ the only tolerable class I have. It’s gonna be cut,” Gen explained. “I have proof. Totally incriminating. Probably. Just have to give it to the right authorities.”

“I see you still think that you’re a spy,” Shaw scoffed.

“We have to go to the library.” Gen took her bag back, and began marching to the bus stop, unbothered by Shaw’s indifference at her tremendous find.

“Why? It’s Friday, I can take you to the movies or something.” Shaw strolled the opposite way, towards the parking lot, smirking when Gen perked up at the prospect of getting a free ride, instead of having to wait for the bus, hurrying to catch up with large lopsided steps given the weight of her backpack. 

“I have to listen to these tapes at the library,” the middle schooler insisted.

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “What’s so special about the library? Is it your secret hideout or something?” 

Gen looked like she had just spilled the beans. “No one ever goes to the encyclopedia section.”

“Thank you, Google,” Shaw quipped.

When they arrived, Gen hopped out of her car, she took several steps before turning around apologetically. “You can just drop me off, if you want to do something else with your day off.”

“No. It’s okay.” Shaw moved some stuff around in the glove compartment, though what she meant to grab was in clear view. She sighed. 

“Did you get fired?” Gen asked loudly, peeking in through the passenger window.

Shaw frowned. “No.”

“What’s that?” Gen tried to pick up the large file, but Shaw was faster. 

“Some light reading.” Shaw held it just out of reach. She wondered why she even bothered to bring it. She had skimmed it when Reese gave it to her, and had not touched it since. Probably useless now. Whatever point he was trying to make, he could deal with it himself.

She followed Gen to the encyclopedia section in the back of the first floor. It had a decent view of the comings and goings of the front and stairs. Gen offered her a granola bar from a stash hidden behind a 2006 edition Encyclopedia of the Modern World that looked brand new.

“Cool. You wouldn't happen to have some Koolaid back there too, would you?” Shaw asked only half sarcastically.

“I'm more of a Capri Sun kid.” Gen produced a juice pouch.

“Classy.” She accepted the pouch. There was something satisfying about having to stab the thing before taking a sip.

“Harold gives me a decent stipend,” the sixth grader replied, while organizing her stash of snacks and cassette players. How the library staff missed it showed how little relevancy encyclopedias had anymore, or they were just lazy about maintenance.

“Harold huh?” Shaw asked. Of all the places for Reese to slip up with his secrets and aliases. Amazing.

“John is his butler or something...right? Someone's gotta be bankrolling all his suits.” Even more amazing.

“Probably.” Shaw couldn’t help but smirk at the newfound information. “Reese visit you at all?”

“Twice. Harold checks up on me once a week,” Gen explained, her brows beginning to furrow. The kid was perceptive.

Shaw figured she should be more subtle, but there really wasn’t a way around it. “Tell me about Reese’s reclusive boss.”

“Is John your boyfriend?” Gen guessed.

“No,” Shaw answered sharply.

Gen gave her a mischievous smile at the reaction, “are you jealous?”

“No,” Shaw huffed.

“Why do you want to know about his friends so much? Don't you have any?”

“You got me there. I'm spending my day off sipping juice with you,” she shot back.

Gen frowned and squeezed Shaw’s juice pouch, laughing when she sputtered and angrily wiped the juice from her nose.

“Stop distracting me, I have work to do,” Gen turned back to her tapes.

They fell silent as Gen plugged in a headset, and began going through her cassettes, occasionally making a comically scrunched up face. Shaw watched her furiously scribble notes in a composition book, and snorted when she caught the profane nickname she’d given the principal. Gen shushed her, offering her the choice of a pen or a mechanical pencil and gesturing to her folder. Seems she’d be doing her homework after all.

Shaw flipped open the file and was met with the autopsy report she’d seen only once, but had already memorised. Multiple gunshot wounds and blood loss, she’d seen plenty of those lately. If the newspaper clippings further into the file were anything to go by, Hannah Frey was one of the lucky ones. Next, was an x-ray of a bullet lodged in a skull, and reports of the subsequent surgery and recovery process for a Jane Doe. Got off with hearing loss. Go figure. She rubbed her temples, she didn’t know why Reese wanted her to have this.

Well, other than the obvious. She didn’t need the several news clippings to remind her that the Central Park shooting was a big deal a couple years ago. The papers love a reason to yell about something. The gang skirmish had cost thirteen innocent lives, and if Root wanted to avenge her friend there was nothing wrong with that. Subjectively.

She couldn’t help but notice the information in the file was rather deliberately arranged. She tried to imagine Reese putting together this screwed up scrapbook like some suburban mom. Only, it probably wasn’t him, because the autopsy report and Jane Doe’s x-ray seemed a new addition. The rest of the folder was much more chronological, with notes to match. First, a neat looping script, then a new messier scrawl, with references to a Nathan, whom Shaw deducted was the author of the first set of handwriting.

This Nathan had dug up an old article from ‘91 and another from two years later. He was particularly interested in Hannah Frey, it seemed, who had disappeared in Central Park at 16 only to resurface in connection to a human trafficking ring two years later. Hannah was not so lucky after all, especially around the park. 

Nathan was thorough, he even had a copy of her ID, work history, and a record of her medication. Jane Doe was another story. All there was only a social security number and a name: Samantha Groves.    

Finding out Root’s name from a file was rather anticlimactic. Nathan hadn't exactly skimped on the work, though his notes didn't indicate he knew he had actually found Samantha Groves when staking out Hannah’s apartment. He had probably decided Root was the threat to Hannah’s life, because he had several grainy photos and a list of aliases along with a record of her heists. Shaw flipped through the pages of driver's licenses. Karen Iverson was one she recognized. Karen bought her a $100 porterhouse. 

She skipped the various pictures of Root dropping off Hannah’s prescription or dry cleaning, it didn't take a genius to put together what that and the antianxiety pills meant. If this was how Reese got his information, she was glad not to be a part of it. Vigilantism she could do, but stalking would require too much patience with no bathroom breaks.

The last item was an old photo of school aged Hannah Frey and Samantha Groves with no annotation or explanation. A fitting way to round out this narrative that someone had decided to make her responsibility to know, for some reason. It really wasn't about asking why. At least, it shouldn't be.

Gen yawned and dramatically took off her headphones and snapped her notebook shut. She peered over Shaw’s shoulder, trying to get a good look at whatever she was reading. Shaw shrugged Gen away and gathered up her papers.

“Finally bored huh?” Shaw leaned back against the shelves, and rubbed her temples.

“I'm not bored. It's just… Kind of pointless.” Gen frowned.

“You're thinking too hard, just make friends with one of the kids in your art class and convince them to have their rich parents complain to the school board. Or donate to the art department. Something about nurturing their kid’s artistic side would do,” Shaw replied.

“I mean, there's no point in that either. No one here is worth making friends with. And it doesn't matter if I fix things here anyway, when I go home it's back to public school for me.” Gen shrugged, distracting herself with flipping through her notes.

“When you go home huh?” Shaw asked. Usually when they helped people disappear out of town, it was for good.

“The city’s my home, Shaw. I  _ am _ going back eventually, right?” Gen pressed.

“I don't know kid, I'm not the one in charge,” she replied, mentally reminding herself to kick Reese for making her have to have this conversation.

Gen fell silent for a long while before sighing, “It's not just about the Russians coming after me, is it?”

Shaw sighed too. “Reese and his boss are secretive people. They brought you into the fold so…”

“I know too much,” Gen finished the sentence.

“It can't be that bad. Being the ward of a reclusive millionaire,” Shaw offered.

Gen only frowned in response.

Shaw thought for a moment. “When you were home, you ever go to the park? Central Park?”

Gen smiled fondly. “My grandfather took me on walks there sometimes. He liked the trees.”

“It's a decent place for a jog.” Shaw nodded. “You, uh, should go there with an adult though. Just to be safe.”

“Right. If I ever get to leave this suburban nightmare.” Gen flopped to the floor dramatically. “I hate it here. I hate this school.”

“Is home really that much better?” Shaw asked.

“Well you call it ‘home’ don't you?” Gen pouted.

“It's just a word,” Shaw said shrugging.

The middle schooler thought about that for a while. “I've been keeping up what's been happening in town. It sounds worse than when the Russians were around,” she admitted.

“They shouldn't be letting you read that stuff,” Shaw said.

“Maybe they had it coming. Maybe the Punisher is the city’s response to living under the thumb of organized crime for so long. Maybe these guys deserve worse.” Gen frowned.

“That's dark stuff, kid,” Shaw noted bitterly.

Gen shrugged. “I'm just being honest.” She crossed herself with an ironic smile.

“I think you did it the wrong way.”

“I'm Russian.” Gen rolled her eyes at Shaw’s blank look. “Nevermind. Didn’t figure you for a Catholic.”

“I'm not anything. I had an aunt,” she replied.

“St. Matthew’s or...?” Gen asked.

“I don't know. Didn't keep in touch. Told me, us Shaws have the devil in us, cause a child should cry at her father's funeral.” Shaw smiled bitterly at the memory. Maybe the dumb name was suitable after all.

“That's horrible.” Gen shook her head sadly, it made her look older than she was.

“Didn't really matter. She was downright medieval about most things,” Shaw replied with a shrug. “What about you? Find a suitable church to go to around here? It’d help you get settled.”

“No. Well, it's not about that for me. Faith is not a place,” Gen said, “It's about hope. People move past all the bad things in their lives, because they have to believe that the future will be better. You could pray to the devil, as long as hope survives. Things are bad at home. She still has work to do.”

Shaw narrowed her eyes at Gen. This kid. 

“Or he. I don't know anything. I'm just a kid.” Gen said with a mischievous smile, shrugging.

Before she could respond, there was an alert on Gen’s phone. The girl’s face fell when she checked it, turning to Shaw with a frown. “It’s the news. From home.”

* * *

 

“Three dead and one injured in yesterday's shooting at Metro-General Hospital, the ongoing investigation into the vigilante authorities are calling the Punisher to follow.” Shaw sighed and muted the news, sitting back in her chair. It was much too soft, she felt like she was sinking in. She got up with an annoyed groan. Cole chuckled from his hospital bed.

“You don't have to stay here. I don't think Dr. Hersh meant for you to come in sans scrubs when he gave you time off.” He sat up and reached for the water on the bedside table, she hurried over to hand it to him.

“Something better comes around, I'm gone,” she replied with a smirk.

“Really. Thanks, Sam. But I'm fine, you've seen my chart, bullet was through and through, and I've broken my nose before it's not a big deal. I'll be discharged later today.” He smiled reassuringly, as if she was the patient.

“It’s Dr. Sam, tough guy.” Shaw shook her head with a smile.

“Please, please just go away. The nurse from the third floor is subbing here, and you scare her. You're the anti-wingman.” Cole clasped his hand together in mock pleading.

“Cause asking her to escort you to the bathroom is how you get the girl,” she shot back.

“I survived the Punisher, I think that gets me some points.” He wriggled his brows smugly.

“Hm. You... see what the Punisher looked like?” she asked.

“No, it happened too fast. Got knocked out right after I was shot.” He looked down, suddenly a bit pale.

The nurse arrived then, and Cole signalled her to leave with an exaggerated pout. Shaw tried to look non-threatening as she walked by, her wingman status apparently being at stake. She ran into Dr. Hersh on her way out. His shoulders slumped and his frown was etched permanently on his face. He sighed wearily when he saw her.

“Here to see Cole then?”

“You're a mess,” she said bluntly.

Hersh shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This whole thing's a mess. I'm headed out of town to meet with the hospital’s board of directors now.”

“They didn't feel like sticking around?” Shaw asked with a bitter smile. 

“The storm's not passed,” he admitted, “ I'm bringing my kid. Honestly Shaw, if you wanted to extend your leave…”

“I'm not going anywhere,” she said immediately.

“I thought you’d say that. Take care of yourself, Sameen.” He gave her a stern nod.

“George.” She saluted him only half jokingly.

There was something extremely reliable about how Reese always showed up when the last thing she wanted to see was his face. Maybe he was under the impression that just because he could reach the top of the door frame with ease, he was entitled to her spare key. 

“Gen was caught trespassing earlier today, and got a three day suspension for the week,” he grumbled from his seat on her couch.

“Never understood why they give bored kids looking for trouble, more free time for trouble,” she replied without acknowledging him. 

“She told her principal, ‘just cause everything is pointless and life is crap, doesn't mean you don't fix a problem when you see one.’ Wonder where she got that,” he continued humorlessly.

“Who knows? Why don’t you ask Harold?” Shaw smiled at the immediate change in expression. The man did not have a great poker face.

“You see a problem you need to fix, Shaw?” Reese asked challengingly, ignoring her question.

“Yeah, I have to change my locks,” she quipped.

Reese frowned. “Your friend got shot,” he said. 

“And I'm sure someone wants to blame me for that too,” she muttered.

“I thought you’d have cooled off by now.”

She gave him a hard look. “Yeah you think? That little scrapbook supposed to rally me to your side?”

“Just thought you deserved to know the whole story. You can decide whether you still want to do this,” he said, knowing very well that the choice had already been made.

“There’s a file like that about me, isn’t there? With, ‘the whole story’?” Shaw asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

She nodded with a sigh. “And it’s the reason you chose me?”

“We chose you, because you wanted this,” he replied simply.

Shaw scoffed.

“You save lives, made it your purpose. All you needed was the right job,” he said, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“Right. As opposed to my day job, where I  _ pretend _ to save people,” she said.

“Doctors are a last resort, a second chance, some people don’t have that,” he reminded her, not that there were many second chances being given as of late. They sat in silence for a while after that, while Shaw stared bullets at him.

“Just, tell me why you’re here,” she grumbled, giving in.

“Elias.”

“The man’s damn lucky, he should be dead three times over,” she noted.

“Michael Cole was very brave. He blocked the entrance to the staircase and allowed Elias to escape.” Reese said, “Maybe he’s too brave, because he’s sitting with a police sketch artist as we speak.”

“Cole.” She groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You think she’s going to target him?”

“She killed two men that worked for her to hide her identity, I wouldn’t put it past her,” he said.

“Any idea where she’s going to be?” Shaw grabbed her gear.

“I know where Elias is. A police safe house, and they’re not being too subtle about it,” Reese reported.

“Of course it’s back to this,” she huffed.

“Be careful, Shaw. He’s getting desperate, and she’s getting impatient.”

* * *

 

The safe house was well fortified, and from what Shaw could see, impenetrable. The nearly empty building surrounded by cops aside, Elias had his own men patrolling the neighborhood, not one to trust his protectors entirely. She found Elias’ would-be assassin on the roof a couple buildings down, armed with a high powered rifle and surrounded by various other gear. 

“So this is the plan then. Storm a safe house full of cops, no lackeys this time?”

Root turned around with an exaggerated frown. “Can’t say I’m glad to see you, Shaw.” She studied Shaw’s costume up and down, and couldn’t keep a chuckle from bubbling out.

Shaw rolled her eyes. “You knew. The whole time. Could’ve slit my throat in my sleep, get a jump on me.”

Root gave her a mock affronted look. “Is that really what you think of me? I'm not a  _ monster _ .”

“You shot up a hospital, Root,” she replied humorlessly.

“And no one died that didn’t deserve it. Just Elias’ goons. I’m sorry about the nurse, I didn’t know he meant something to you. He was in the way.” The apology seemed almost genuine.

“This is what you think huh? You think you’re really some sort of punisher? Give me a break,” Shaw scoffed.

Root smiled sweetly. “You think what you do is any better?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted,  “And maybe some of these guys deserve to be put in the ground. But it’s not up to me, and not you either.”

“Really, you think the law is the best way to deal with these people?” Root asked.

“No. But you can’t just slaughter them like animals,” Shaw replied. She sized up the setup Root had. The building they were on had been scheduled for renovations before the owner ran out of money, and the project was abandoned. Crates and scrap dotted the roof, along with some packs, and various wires and gear Root had lugged up there. It seemed she had been here a while.

“What humanity does best is destroy each other. You’re a doctor, a fan of temporary fixes. It's unending though, isn't it? Pain, illness, decay. We can't _solve_ the core problem. People are rotten, just bad code. And it really only stops one way,” Root asserted. Shaw knew this was just a distraction, she could see Root studying her, both with the knowledge the other would not budge. This was not their first staring contest of this sort.

“All that way does, is make widows and orphans that want the same blood you want.” Shaw paused, and continued carefully, “You lost someone. We all have.” 

Root shook her head with a bitter smile. “Don’t. Don’t  _ talk _ about her. You have no right. I gave you a chance. I know you wanted to take it, I saw it in your eyes.”

“You’re right, I did want revenge, I still do. But if I learned anything in this shitty ass job, is that bad people are everywhere. The job is to save them,” she concluded.

Root closed her eyes with a laugh. “You don’t owe them a thing, you know. Yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.” 

Root reached for her back pocket, but Shaw was faster. She tackled the woman to the ground and the cell phone Root was holding clattered to the floor. The combination of numbers and symbols on the screen screamed one thing: a detonation code. Reese was right about the impatience. She dove for the phone without thinking, and threw it over the side of the roof. When she turned around, she was met with a gun in her face.

“Do it,” Shaw challenged.

“Bang,” Root whispered sarcastically. “No matter. That was the backup plan anyways.”

Men’s voices came from below, no doubt summoned by the sound of their short scuffle. Shaw wondered for a second if Elias had the decency to mention to his men, her saving his ass almost a week ago, but figured Daredevil was no friend to him otherwise. Vigilantism was complicated.

“You could still walk away, Root.” She eyed the gun that was level with her face. If she could get closer...

“Could you?” Root asked knowingly. “You tried to, and now you’re back in that dumb suit.”

“About to get mowed down by some mafia, no thanks to you,” she replied.

“Geez, Sam, have you always been this whiny?” Root sighed and lowered the gun. 

Shaw rolled her eyes.

“Thank you.” She peeked over the side of the building surveilling possible escape routes. “ We’re surrounded, but the east side is short on guys and close to a large street, if we get the jump on them--”

“I’m wrong, you know. You… fix things where people break them. You probably prove me wrong. But, I have to do this.”

Shaw’s whole body tensed, and she fell heavily to the ground. Her neck burned where the taser touched her. She could only glare angrily, as Root chained her to a nearby chimney, three times around her torso.

“Sorry about that.” Root looked down at her with a mocking pout. “I know, I know you think I played you for stupid with all this. But really, it just happened this way.”

“I will end you,” Shaw said scathingly. 

Root only smiled, then ignored her in favor of digging around in her things, much too calm considering that Elias’ soldiers were storming the building. Shaw felt some of her senses returning, and immediately began trying to wrestle free of her constraints.

“Stop struggling, you know I get distracted when you do that,” Root said tauntingly.

“What are you going to do, Root? You’re trapped, and you’re nowhere near Elias,” she grunted, kicking out her feet ineffectively.

“Always liked a challenge.” Root dragged some wires around, hooking them onto a couple large LED lights, and positioned them carefully on the ledge, smiling all the while. 

“Is that what I was, huh? Did you plan on us meeting too? New Rochelle was just some sick game to you, wasn’t it? Trying to prove something,” Shaw spat.

That got Root’s attention. She looked at her and tilted her head in a show of honesty. “Don’t worry, I was just trying to get in your pants the night we met. I didn’t know we’d end up like this.” She turned back to her work, and Shaw glared at her back for a long moment, before deciding to try to find a way to escape again.

“Good,” she huffed. Shaw spotted a steel beam just out of reach. She inched her boot forward, stretching until her heel touched the beam. She looked up as it made a sound, but Root didn’t seem to notice with her back turned.

“Though it seems a bit inevitable now, doesn’t it? It’s like you and I were made for this,” Root said, more to herself than anything.

“That we’re here on a rooftop, playing dress up, and you have a dumb name? Sounds about right,” Shaw shot back.

Root turned around, and continued, “Really. In a universe that’s infinite, chaotic, and cold, I found you, and then you found me here. It’s like there’s a plan.” She would seem sincere if it wasn’t for her cold smirk.

“Yeah, the plan is I kick your ass cause you’re a mass murderer,” Shaw spat.

“Come on now, Shaw. There are no heroes or villains. You can drop the act.” Root strutted over, and pushed the beam back to it’s original place without dropping her smug smile.

“Everyone always thinks they’re justified, but in the end people like you think, just cause you’ve been hurt, you can hurt others. That you’re above them, better than them,” she replied.

“Why is that? When people are hurt, when they suffer, they have to rise above it, or else they’re the bad guy. Makes for a good story, I suppose. I’m not the bad guy, Sameen. I mean, you hurt people, albeit not for yourself, and you’re called a hero,” Root said, hovering just over her. Shaw could smell leather of her jacket and her freshly painted nails.

“I didn’t ask to be called anything,” Shaw admitted.     

“I don’t think we’re that different, Shaw. At least I freely admit it. Unlike you, hiding out in that mask. Are you ashamed? Are you afraid to admit you like it?” Root asked, leaning in conspiratorially. “We’re the same. I do this. And you go out at night. Blow off steam beating on some guys, not cause you care about saving anyone, it’s because work is  _ boring _ .”

Shaw jerked her head forward, and sent Root reeling back holding her face, her bottom lip split and bleeding slowly. Root smiled, nodding. “Okay. Maybe I deserved that one.” She went back to her LED light, tilting it towards the door to the stairs.

“Look. A lot of blood’s been spilled in this town already. I can appreciate wanting some payback. For you. For your friend. But don’t think for a second you’re honoring her, because Hannah Frey went out of her way to work at a non-profit to  _ fix _ this place, even as the Russians were running it into the ground,” Shaw said.

Root wheeled around, her lips in a thin line. “Shut up.”

“You’re just being selfish.”

“You know, people are selfish. We're made that way, nobody cares.” Root shook her head with a laugh. “God, you’re self-righteous. When I met you, you were just...trying to convince yourself you were okay with mediocrity. And look at you now. You still won’t take the next step.”

“What? Killing?” Shaw grit her teeth. “Every life lost, that I could have saved, is on me.”

“How sweet. You  _ care _ ,” the other woman chimed mockingly.

“I don’t blame everyone else for everything. Sometimes bad things happen, and it doesn’t mean anything. It’s irresponsible to add to it.”

“Do no harm, huh?” Root smiled cruelly. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill Elias. Not yet. I have some questions for him, about a certain shipment coming in. Something tells me he’s not the one that needs six industrial generators.”

“And after you know, after he’s dead, what are you going to do when you’ve made this whole ordeal your purpose?” Shaw asked. The sound of boots came from the stairs, and she renewed her efforts in finding a way out of the chains. She reached for the beam again, sliding it inch by inch towards herself.

“Maybe I’ll go find myself a car. Something yellow. I can’t stand the subway,” Root replied. “Hannah always thought I could be more than a thief, you know. Live a better life, be better. And then she was gone. If only there was a Daredevil then.” Root retrieved two handguns from her things, and faced the stairs. 

“I think, you can be better,” Shaw said, and almost believed herself.

“Thank you.” Root sighed, “You were my last good thought, you know."

“Wait. Root. You don’t have to do this.” Shaw struggled against her constraints. She wasn’t going to make it.

“We don’t choose the things that fix us.”

The first of Elias’ soldiers burst through the door and Root stomped on a switch that flooded the stairway with intense light, and tossed a smoke grenade towards them. In their confusion the soldiers fired recklessly around. Root stepped forward unfazed by the bullets whizzing by, and opened fire with both of her guns.

* * *

 

||2 years ago|| 

_ “Oh Sam, you don't understand. You can’t fix everything.” _

_ “Try me.” _

_ Hannah shook her head with a sigh. “What are you going to do? Don’t- don’t answer that, I don’t need your keyboard magic on this.” _

_ Root snorted, regretting owning up to having beat every high score to Oregon Trail so many years ago, and having to hear ‘keyboard magic’ to this day. “The man is basically forcing you to quit, Hannah. He can’t just suddenly decide to send you to work on the other side of town.” She didn’t know why she tried, Hannah had that look on her face that let Root know that she wasn’t going to listen. Deny as she might, Hannah was the stubborn one, she was always determined to see Oregon. _

_ “Actually, he can. Just, don’t do anything okay?” Hannah pleaded, and walked around trying to clear the clutter from the couch to find Root a spot to sit. _

_ “He should know better.” She hovered by the counter and looked around. She hadn’t been over in a couple weeks. The house plant needed watering. _

_ “He’s already been very accommodating,” Hannah replied, busying herself with stacking the empty takeout boxes dotting the dining table.  _

_ “Letting you work from home once in awhile is not being accommodating, if he gives you twice the work as everyone else.” Root grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen and followed suit. _

_ “I just work fast. You worry too much,” Hannah said. She filled a mug and watered the succulents by the window, raising her brows at Root pointedly. She always noticed her snooping.  _

_ “You don't have to do this, you're too good for them anyways. You can find another job,” Root said. _

_ “They're not all going to be just down the street, Sam,” Hannah sighed. “I can power through a couple subway stops.” _

_ “Last time you were on a subway- I'll drive you to work.” Root shook her head as Hannah began to protest. “It's not an issue.” _

_ Hannah pouted at her until she could think of a response. She donned a small smile when she thought of one, and Root almost rolled her eyes. _

_ “I can't be implicated in your little schemes, I'm an upstanding citizen.” Hannah raised a brow at her, proud of the clever excuse. She plopped onto the couch with a smile. “If you really want to help, you can help me pick out an outfit to make a good impression at my new office.” _

_ Root knew then, that she wouldn't budge. “That reminds me, I need to borrow some stuff. Gotta look classy for one of my ‘little schemes’ next week.” _

_ They didn't speak of Root’s exploits very often. Hannah was an honest person, but Root never felt a need to lie to her. So they were often at a stalemate, like when Hannah had insisted she pay off her student loans herself, when Root could delete them in a couple of keystrokes. She took a seat next to Hannah. _

_ “So. Who are you today?” Hanna smiled, and brushed her fingers on the sleeve of her leather jacket. “You’ve been wearing this a lot lately.” _

_ “This look really grew on me,” Root admitted. _

_ “Oh? Someone special you dressing up for lately?” _

_ “No one.” _

_ “Must be some girl,” Hannah teased. _

_ “Nah, I got dumped,” she admitted. _

_ “Awesome,” Hannah replied without skipping a beat. “We get to do the textbook best friends thing. I’ve always wanted to eat ice cream out of the tub, while giving bad advice.” _

_ Root chuckled. “You seem way too happy about this.” _

_ “Sorry. So when did it happen? And how’d you fuck up?”  _

_ “Yesterday. Why do you assume it was me?” _

_ Hanna raised a brow in response. _

_ “Fine. But it doesn’t matter, it was dumb anyway. Got too attached. Liked this jacket too much,” Root raised a finger to Hanna’s lips when she began to object. “I couldn’t come around as much. Missed your calls. It’s better this way.” _

_ Hannah’s face fell, and she turned away. “You know you can have a life right?” _

_ Root bit her lip, mentally kicking herself. “And what exactly does that mean?” _

_ “You don’t need to supervise all the time, I’m fine. Go out. Stop getting dumped. Get a real job,” Hannah quipped, the smile back on her face. _

_ “Don’t tell me you want me to contribute to society now,” Root teased. _

_ “You have a gift, Sam,” Hannah said, “think of the people you can help.” The topic had come up before, after a particularly lucrative sting Root couldn’t help but brag about. It didn’t end well. _

_ “What did they do to ever deserve my help?” Root asked coldly. _

_ Hannah was silent for awhile. She shook her head with a sigh. “You think it’s better like me? I’m stuck at home all day, this apartment is my prison. I don't want to be yours. You don't have to keep saving me all the time. I didn't ask you to.” _

_ Root didn't know how to respond to that. _

_ “You just look so... angry sometimes. I don't know how to help you,” Hannah admitted. _

_ “None of it. Not one thing is your fault, please know that.” _

_ “I know. We just, we have to help each other, okay?” _

_ Root nodded and tried to smile. “Let's do something. What's that movie you wanted to show me?” _

_ “Let's go out,” Hannah said, with Oregon in her eyes.  _

_ “Hannah. You don't need to prove anything to me,” Root said, but stood up anyway. _

_ “I just want to walk. Will you go with me?” _

_ “Absolutely.” _

_ Their walk took them past Hannah’s office, and further still. When Hannah led them around a corner, Root knew it was not just a walk. _

_ “Hannah,” she began. _

_ “I'm fine. Cause I'm with you.” Hannah sped up, as the green came into view. The sun was setting, and the Park was surrounded by a warm orange glow. _

_ “It can get pretty crowded at this hour,” Root warned. _

_ Hannah marched up to a bench, and turned to Root with a determined look on her face. “I only see you,” she said, and sat down. The sunlight hit her face at an angle that gave her a soft halo. _

_ “That's…What I meant was-” _

_ “He took me from here almost 15 years ago. And you found me,” Hannah said, as if she needed the narration, as if the thought wasn’t always at the back of her mind. _

_ “Two years too late,” Root retorted.  _

_ “But you looked, when everyone else stopped.” Hannah bit her lip, and said just above a whisper, “Trent Russell.” _

_ “Hannah.” _

_ “It’s okay. He's dead and in the ground. You made sure of that. He has no power now. Trent Russell: it’s just a name. I'm glad I'm here now, no matter what has happened. I'm past it. I want to stop living in the past, S- Root,” Hannah said quickly, as if she might lose the resolve otherwise. _

_ Root smiled at hearing her name, but replied, “It's just a name.” _

_ “No it's not. It’s your name,” _

_ “You know you can call me whatever you want,” Root said honestly, still smiling. _

_ Hannah wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, does that line work with the ladies?” She laughed childishly, and it almost reminded Root of when they were kids. _

_ “There’s a line out the door of women waiting to name me,” Root bragged, taking a seat at the bench. _

_ “Tell me about the one that’s not.” _

_ Root smiled and opened her mouth to answer, but her words died in her throat. She was confused to find that her face was warm, surely the brash woman she’d only known for two months couldn’t affect her so deeply. Hannah looked confused too, her mouth agape, wordless. There were people screaming, but it was both distant and distorted, like heard underwater. Hannah raised a hand to Root’s cheek, brushing away the blood as if in apology for getting her face dirty. She tried to say something Root could not make out, only managing a wheeze before holding the place the bullet had torn through her throat. Root put a hand on her friend’s wound, and looked around helplessly, but there were only masses of people fleeing or the wounded who couldn’t. _

_ “Stay awake, Hanna. Just please, please don’t close your eyes. Wake up. Please, wake up.” Root wondered where she heard it before. You don’t hear the bullet that kills you. _

* * *

 

When the smoke cleared, there wasn’t anyone left standing in the doorway. The building down the street lit up with life, the cops alerted by the sounds of gunfire. Root shuffled over to the ledge and watched them with a grin.

“The hardest part was learning to type again, when I came to. Losing my hearing was hard, but getting shot in the head really fucks with your motor skills. I couldn’t do anything. Not fun.” Root pouted dramatically.

She rummaged around Shaw’s suit until she found her cell phone, and gave her an amused shrug as she typed in the detonation code. Root dialed when the police cars approached and the parked cars that lined the street exploded into flames. Cop cars were sent careening into other buildings or each other. Root had essentially created a barricade of burning scrap metal. She returned the phone to Shaw’s pocket with a pat.

“Physical therapy took almost two years. Did some hacking when it came back to me, just for fun. Had to outsource the physical part when I started working again. It got a bit deadly, you’ve met my ex-partner. Didn’t mind the whole transition from thief to contract killer. It paid better, I needed the resources. And practice,” Root continued. 

Shaw could only sit and watch as, Root scoped out the now nearly unguarded police safe house. She hoped Elias knew better than to poke his nose out the window. 

“I'm tired, Shaw. Of living my life two years at a time,” Root concluded.

“Do you really think you're going to make it out of this?” Shaw asked.

“That’s not important to me.”

“There's a building full of guys still looking for you below us,” Shaw reminded her. 

“They won’t lay a hand on you, I promise,” Root replied. She began gathering her things, and Shaw renewed her work dragging the steel beam toward herself. If Root left her there, she’d need something to fight off whoever came through that door. Cops or otherwise. The phone in her pocket buzzed, but Root didn’t seem to notice when she looked up. She tapped her helmet against her shoulder until she heard an unexpected voice on the line.

“Detective. I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Shaw whispered.

“You’re with the Punisher,” Carter said, more of a statement than a question.

“I am.”

“You have to get out of there.” Carter’s voice was hushed, and the urgency was not comforting.

“That one’s going to be a little hard to pull off,” she replied, but began to wriggle in the constraints a bit more.

“I couldn’t stop it. The DA, she knows you’re both in there, and she doesn’t care about Elias’ testimony anymore. She’s planning on ending this vigilante problem once and for all. I’m sorry.” Carter's voice cut off then, and the lax police presence around the buildings surrounding the safe house began to make sense.

“Root,” Shaw called hurriedly, “Root. Get down.”

Root turned around with furrowed brows, and Shaw kicked out at the beam as hard as she could. It caught Root in the shins, and the split second it took for her look of confusion to become realization then horror before falling face first to the floor, had Shaw almost smirking as the barrage began. She was struck at least three times, before her torso just hurt in general.

Root recovered quickly, and hurried to her, keeping low to the ground. She fumbled with the chains, but quickly lost her patience and shot them out instead. She smiled grimly, and said in a thin voice, “dammit Shaw, I can’t take you anywhere.”

Shaw winced when Root pulled her to her feet, taking her arm to steady her. They made their way into the building, where Elias’ remaining search party was clamoring up the stairs, newly aggravated by the turn of events. Root practically dragged them to the old elevator on the other side of the hall, setting Shaw down gently when they were safely inside. The rickety doors closed tauntingly slowly. The first of the hostiles made his way up the stairs, spotting them immediately. Root jabbed the button several times, and took a deep breath.

“Well, a promise is a promise,” Root murmured, “how about a kiss for the road?”

“What?”

Root slid past the doors as they were about to close, and Shaw was left alone under the single flickering florescent light as she descended. Shaw wanted to grumble about how this ridiculous woman was going to need her ass saved, trying to fight her way down the stairs. She laughed to herself when she remembered she had come to protect Elias from Root to begin with. She pressed a hand to the wound in her side, and shut her eyes. Sounds of gunfire and yelling came through, and she readied herself as the elevator came to a halt and the doors began to open.

Root was standing there, looking a bit worse for wear, with a gash above her eye, favoring one leg, and breathing heavily. Two men lay dead next to the elevator doors. She offered Shaw her hand. “What took you so long, sweetie?”

They circumvented the police’s poorly constructed perimeter easily, and stuck to the shadows as Root led them back to Shaw’s apartment. It wouldn’t have been half as agonizing a journey if she didn’t have Root coaching her through every step. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when she made it home that quickly. Blood loss and blacking out, it seems, are the secrets to time travel.

“Please, Sameen, keep your eyes open. You’re going to be fine. They’re coming for you. Just, please stay awake.” Root rummaged through the cabinets, retrieved the first aid kit, and set it out next to her.

Shaw was sure she closed her eyes just to spite the woman. And when she opened them again, Root was gone. Reese burst through the door with a limping Michael Cole in tow. That could not be good for the wound in his thigh. Cole took one look at her and began a mantra of ‘what the shit,’ as he dug through her first aid kit and got to work. She blacked out again when she felt the cold of the tweezers meet the burning in her gut. 


	4. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw's recovery is interrupted, when Root decides it's time to end this.

When she came to, everything was dark, save the flashing billboard across the street, still so obnoxiously visible through the drawn curtains. Shaw coughed, her throat felt like she’d swallowed gravel. Every breath tugged at the several places stitches held her body together. She struggled out of her ruined couch, and tripped over herself getting to the kitchen. The world spun when she looked up to grab a glass from the cabinets, and she slammed it on the counter in frustration, before realizing she was not alone.

Reese sat in the arm chair like an overgrown guard dog, and had probably been like that the whole night. A glass of water and some painkillers were already set out on the coffee table, still littered with bloodied gauze and discarded tourniquets. She would have to have a conversation with Cole about workstation etiquette, because she’d throw out anyone that left _her_ ER in that kind of disarray.

“Good morning,” Reese said nonchalantly, looking up from the morning paper. The bolded letters caught her attention. He folded it up neatly and tucked it under his arm, lips in a thin line.  

She grumbled, and went back to sit at the couch, still sticky with half dried blood. Her blood. Last night’s events came back to her in the form of a dull headache. She chugged the water without looking at Reese, waiting for the inevitable question.

“What are we going to do now, Shaw?”

He left without much protest when she said she’d just get some rest, promising to bring some stolen- but not from Metro General- blood later.

But then the sun was up, and so was she, and so Shaw decided to go for a walk. Everywhere she went, most of the crowd parted for her, and it wasn’t until she saw her reflection in the window of a slow moving car that she understood why. She didn’t look alive. Traffic had come to a standstill on most streets, several blocks were cordoned off because they looked more like scrap heaps. She got sick of seeing her own reflection pretty quickly. Almost as sick as she was of dodging people with their nose stuck in a newspaper. A simple car bomb had brought the city to a halt. The papers today all had some iteration of the same headline. _Daredevil. Dead? Betrayal._

The DA’s new war on vigilantism was in full swing, starting with a smear campaign, and stories that spun the new Vigilante Task Force’s ambush last night as a rousing success. Under their iron lady, the DA’s office had reportedly found evidence of Daredevil colluding with the Punisher. One or both of whom, were severely wounded in the task force’s sting. Shaw frowned at the DA’s stern features on many of the cover stories. With her hair in a proper looking bun and a scowl on her face, she looked like one of those European strongwomen, even as an ineffectual local official, who- everyone had conveniently forgotten- let the Russians have their way with the town. DA Rousseau had gone from a joke, to a joke with teeth overnight.

Her walk brought her to a certain hospital with familiar, yellowing walls. She wasn’t so out of place there. There were plenty of people that could’ve been corpses, and plenty of corpses that were riddled with holes.

“You shouldn’t be up.” Michael Cole was missing his characteristic smile. He almost looked like more of a mess than she did, with a crutch in one arm, and some vials balanced haphazardly on a tray in the other.

“My doctor signed off on it,” Shaw quipped.

Cole laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “You’re not working today. I already told them you called in sick.”

“Says the guy with the limp.” Shaw raised a brow at him.

“God. Shaw, you could have died.” Cole rubbed his temples. “Look, I’ll sneak you some painkillers. But you should go.”

“Okay, if this is about the thing…”

“It is not about ‘the thing,’” He smiled weakly. “Geez, you know, you should have just told me all the bruises were some weird sex thing. What is with the body suit, man?” He laughed half heartedly at his attempt at a joke.

“Cole, you ass.”

Cole rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I should take this time to say thank you, Sam. For saving the city and stuff. I don’t believe what they’re saying.”

“I wasn’t even there to stop you from getting your dumbass shot.”

“Then, apology accepted.” He shot her a tired grin.

Shaw nodded, and after a pause, murmured, “She won’t hurt you again, I swear.”

“A-are you sure about that?” He looked past her, suddenly pale. “Hey, about what the papers are saying…” He shut his mouth when she shook her head, and seemed to want to disappear into the wallpaper.  

Shaw turned around, frowned, and stomped away without a word. Root donned a confident smile as she approached, unperturbed by the angry hurricane of a woman coming her way.

“Are you tracking my phone?” Shaw demanded to know.

“Yes.” Root raised a hand before Shaw could smash her phone. “But not right now, I just figured you’d be here. You weren’t home. I knocked.”

“God, I’m stupid. No wonder you always saw me coming.”

Root looked at Shaw wordlessly.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I-”

Shaw walked away without a backwards glance. She heard heels clicking behind her to catch up. To her great annoyance, the height difference made it hard to keep up the distance.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Root said quickly, when she got in range again.

Shaw ignored her, acutely aware of all the headlines yelling about Daredevil’s betrayal on every street corner stand, as she took the most direct route home.

* * *

 When they arrived at the apartment, Shaw went in and had half a mind to slam the door behind her. She turned around, and found Root hovering away from the door.

“What do you want?” Shaw repeated. She watched the gears start to turn behind Root’s eyes. She looked at Shaw, and her expression lightened. Shaw stepped to the side, only slightly.

Root let herself in, keeping her back to the door, suddenly dumbfounded at what to say, now that she had a chance to explain herself. Men with guns and ambushes were better motivators than silence and only one way out.

“It shouldn’t have happened this way,” Root began.

“You kept it, huh?” Shaw nodded at Root’s shirt.

Root looked down, and smiled. The silver skull was faded now, but just as distinctive as when she first pulled it out of Shaw’s closet. “This look grew on me.”

“Why are you here?” Shaw sighed, even such a short walk had taken a toll on her, and her body was beginning to catch up to the idea that there were holes that shouldn’t be there. She stayed standing out of pure stubbornness.

“I need a favor,” Root admitted.

“It’s favor enough that I didn’t kick your ass to next week for showing up at the hospital like that. Cole recognized you, who’s to say others didn't?”

“Then, I need another one.”

Shaw raised a brow at her.

“Elias. Your detective friend will know where he is,” Root said.

“You can’t find him yourself?” Shaw asked. The mob boss was more trouble than he was worth.

“I could, but it’d create some bodies. And you would come after me, and we’d be back to how we were on that rooftop. And with the state you’re in now, I just don’t want to hurt you again.” Root didn’t look at Shaw. Her hand found it’s way to the doorknob behind her, the cool metal a beacon of an easy way out of a difficult conversation.

Shaw grit her teeth. “What? You’re telling me to back off?”

“Would you actually do that?” Root asked, not really biting back her sarcasm.

“I’d like to see you make me,” Shaw said, leaning in challengingly.

Root shook her head, exasperated. “Why are you always looking for a fight, Shaw? You won’t win, look at yourself.”

Shaw slammed Root against the door by the collar of her jacket, but did not miss the grimace on her face.

“God. I love it when you do that,” Root joked in a small voice, holding her shoulder.

Shaw gave her a hard look, and brushed Root’s collar aside to take a glance. Root turned her head to the side, and couldn’t help a smile.

“This is crap. Who did this?” Shaw asked, looking at the thick black stitches and the angry red bullet wound in disgust.

“A vet. That I held at gunpoint.” Root winced at the increasingly scathing look Shaw gave her. “In the dark.”

Shaw frowned. “I didn’t know you were hit.”

“You were bloody,” Root said, shrugging. “I’m fine. Matches the one you gave me.”

Shaw sighed, and rolled her eyes. “Well, come on then.” She grabbed the first aid kit sitting on the coffee table, and walked to the bed. The couch still looked like a crime scene.

“That’s forward of you.”

“I could just let you get an infection, you know.”

Shaw sat Root down on the bed and had her remove her jacket and top. She snipped off the vet’s messy handiwork and cleaned the wound, ignoring Root’s pained hiss.

“So after all this, you're still going after Elias. You really think he's worth the trouble?”

“The shipment comes in tonight, Shaw. I know you’re going to end up in the fray one way or another, I’d prefer it to be because you’re with me not against me. I could use your help,” Root admitted.

“To just stand by and let you kill him?”

Root drummed her fingers in her lap as she watched Shaw lay out the materials for new stitches, trying to distract herself. She still wasn’t big on stitches and needles, after her stint recovering from her brain injury. After that day. So the simple answer to Shaw’s question would be yes. She’d kill Elias a hundred times if she could.

Root took a breath and said, “He’s the key to everything. I decrypted a strange file on his laptop. A ledger. Likely the same as the paper version Decima stole from the safe house. Remember the generators I mentioned?”

“What about them?”

“Well, it seems that Elias was working with them to facilitate converting an old Bratva-run factory for bath salts into a, well, home for what they’re building. Turns out they were working with the Brotherhood as well. Kept things compartmentalized. Unfortunately, Elias caught on. And well, your sullen coworker knows how Decima deals with leaks,” Root explained.   

“What does Reese know? What are they building?” Shaw asked.

Root scoffed. “Of course they kept you in the dark.”

Shaw glared, and asked sharply, “Is any of this relevant to why I’d help you at all, or do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice?”

“There was something else that was strange in the ledger,” Root replied. “A kid. Gabriel Hayward, his parents had reported him missing from his 4th grade class since last week.”

“What do they want with some kid?”

“He’s not just some kid, Shaw. He's already hacked into DARPA and the DOD.” Root had to admit that was impressive, maybe she would have done the same if she wasn’t on Windows 95 at that age.

“So you want to save the kid?” Shaw asked, quirking a brow.

Root smiled. “Is it that hard to believe? Let’s just say I have a soft spot for kidnapped children. It’s a quality we share, Sameen.”

“There’s always more to it with you.”

Root winced, she hadn’t noticed Shaw was still working and was already on the third stitch.

“Stop squirming, you baby.” Shaw grabbed her elbow to hold her still, eyes never leaving her work.

“You’re good at that.” Root made to trace the neat black lines, but Shaw slapped her hand away. Root gave her a sly grin, and said, “matches the other one you gave me, Doctor.”

“You shouldn’t have come back. The DA is serious about the crackdown. You’re going to end up dead. Should’ve gotten out when you had the chance,” Shaw said.

“That’s not very heroic of you, Sameen. I just said I’m going to save a kid.”

Shaw scoffed and didn’t reply.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” Root murmured.

“You came here, because you wanted something from me.”

“I came here, because I wanted to make sure you don’t end up a nameless corpse on a rooftop, helping people you don’t owe a thing to. I need you alive.” Root bit her lip. The last part came out a bit too honest, it wasn’t her thing.

Shaw could’ve asked her why, but instead she snipped away the excess thread, dug around the kit for a bandaid, and said, “When I was 8, my father came home with this huge gash on his face. He got into a fight with some punk at the bar who’d tried to follow some girls home. He let me help stitch him up that night. My mother didn't appreciate that.”

“I thought your mother was pro doctor as a career path,” Root replied.

“She said she came here so I wouldn’t have to see things like that.” Shaw smiled, looking somewhere that seemed far away. “He said doctors only exist because pain does, everywhere. And a doctor that’s preoccupied with the idea that they’re anything more than a stopgap, a second chance, is doomed to fail. That’s when I knew I was going to be a doctor.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You asked that question a long time ago.”

“Why are you telling me now?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Shaw bandaged the wound neatly.

“I think it means,” Root said, taking Shaw’s hand, “you were meant for this, the mask, the job. Protecting people.”

Shaw scoffed, glaring when her first aid kit slid off the edge of the bed and clattered to the floor when Root scooted closer.

“You save them from pain,” Root murmured, and brought Shaw’s hand to her lips. “Fix them. With these.” She kissed each knuckle and every half healed scrape, and straddled Shaw. “Why are you such a big damn hero, Sameen Shaw?”

“You’re the only one calling me that.” Shaw inhaled sharply when Root put her finger in her mouth, then groaned when the sudden motion pulled at the wound in her gut.

“Relax. I need you in your best shape tonight,” Root said teasingly.

“I didn’t agree to help you yet,” Shaw replied.

“Yet,” Root parroted, looking victorious.

The front door opened, and Reese stood there blankly for a moment, before clearing his throat and turning away. “Should I come back?”   

“No,” Shaw replied.

Root pouted but got off, and went to retrieve her shirt, the grin never leaving her face as Reese’s frown grew ever deeper.

“Can I talk to you?” Reese asked, decidedly ignoring Root’s presence. He took Shaw aside to the door and asked in a terse whisper, “What are you thinking?”

“What do you want me to do? She’s asking for help.”

“Asking for help? She left you here to _bleed out_.”

Root looked up from twiddling with Shaw’s laptop, and looked away.

“She’s got intel on Decima. They’re trafficking people now,” Shaw said. “It’s a kid, Reese. You should help us.”

“You shouldn’t even be up,” he replied.

Shaw rolled her eyes. Everyone thinks they’re a doctor these days.

“Around her, your guard is down.” He shook his head. “You should be more careful. You almost died.”

“Calm down, Reese. I was hit three times. Hurts like a bitch, but don’t have holes anywhere important, I’m fine,” Shaw said with a shrug.

Reese’s jaw tensed, and he swallowed hard before mumbling, “You were hit _four_ times, Shaw.”

He jerked his head toward the coffee table where a red sleeve stuck out conspicuously from her gym bag.

Shaw went over, pulled out her outfit, and easily found the three holes, one in the gut, one in the shoulder and grazing her side respectively. She cocked her head at Reese, and retrieved the helmet. It had a crack from the top left horn ending just below the right eye.

“Four.” Shaw shrugged.

“Don’t die for her, Shaw,” Reese said, finally looking at Root, who held his gaze defiantly. “There’s more work we have to do.”

* * *

 That night, Shaw found Detective Carter peering into a pair of binoculars on the roof overlooking city hall.

“Rooftops are usually my thing,” Shaw said.

Carter had no noticeable indication of surprise, but Shaw did hear a safety being slowly clicked off. The woman was subtle. Shaw had figured the detective was on her side since she’d warned her before the ambush, but now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps making Root wait in the car was not a great idea.

“Doing something you’re not supposed to, Detective? You’re jumpy,” Shaw noted.

“Are you?”

“I need information.”

“Why should I help you?” Carter asked.

“Because you’re spying on the DA, and that means you think it’s weird that she’s suddenly taking an active part in her job too,” Shaw replied.

Carter nodded. “And why she’s meeting with some executive from a foreign multinational, John Greer. Know anything about that?”

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“How about you tell me why I clocked the Punisher dragging you out of the heat last night?”

“Would it have been better if I’d rolled over dead?”

“Doesn’t help your case, is all I’m saying.”

“We are… working a joint project.”

“She’s a killer,” the detective said disapprovingly.

“Not going to defend her.”

Carter narrowed her eyes, before continuing, “And she’s cute. I mean, if the police sketch is anything to go by.”

“What are you trying to say?” Shaw grit her teeth. She felt like she was under a magnifying glass, talking to the detective always felt like being cross examined.

“It’s a sad story, maybe you know it. Samantha Groves. Her friend was killed, she was shot. That kind of retribution story seems right up your alley. You’re one for the little folk, right? Stopped that nice surgeon from doing something she’d regret. Then, left the jackass she was after hanging upside down with a broken nose over a garbage can full of coke.” Carter smiled like she’d just told a punchline.

Shaw did remember reading that. Perhaps Reese was not as humorless as she thought. “I don’t see the connection.”

“Good, because this Groves woman is not like Dr. Tillman. She's a real killer,” Carter said. “Now you say you're working together, what am I supposed to think about you?”

“There are larger things in play.”

“Never agreed with your methods but I always thought you wanted to protect this city. But right now, even the people don't trust you.” The detective shook her head. “I'll never forget what that man said in his testimony. Help me make a good decision, Daredevil. What would I regret more? Letting you walk away to help the Punisher, or arresting you where you stand?”

Shaw thought for a moment. “You're right, the people don't trust me. But they don't trust the cops either. So I'm going to make you a deal, tell me what I need to know. When all this is done, you’ll have your murderer.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Shaw paused. There really wasn’t any reason the detective should believe her. There was only the truth.

“Because you know as well as I do, it won't work this way anymore. They need to believe in _someone_. Make them trust the system again. They need to know it works, that they're protected. You can be the one to do that.”

Soon after, Shaw was hurrying down the stairs before the detective could change her mind. When she rounded the corner, Root was standing at the base of the staircase.

“I told you to wait in the car.” Shaw continued walking.

“You were taking a while.”

“How long?” The look on Root’s face already told her. She’d probably heard the whole thing.

“You're really going to give me to her?”

“I'm still thinking about it.”

“Fair enough,” Root said. “Do you have what we need?”

“You weren’t kidding about her contacts, she said--”

“What have you _done_ , Shaw?” A tall shadowy figure pulled Shaw into the alley as they were passing it.

Root raised a gun to the man’s head, but Reese grabbed the gun, ejected the magazine and tossed it into a nearby dumpster in a split second without batting an eye. Root looked at the dumpster, then back at Reese in annoyance. Reese didn’t acknowledge her, only glaring a Shaw.    

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shaw glared back defiantly.

“You dragged Carter into your mess?” Reese asked tersely. “Why is she spying on Greer?”

“She was already here, I only came to ask her a question. What are you not telling me anyway?”

“Stay out of it. And don’t talk to the detective again,” he replied dismissively, preparing to leave.

“You’re the one that didn’t want anything to do with this. How about you take that stick out of your ass--”

“That’s enough,” said a voice from behind them.

“I told you to wait in the car, Finch.”

“They never listen.” Shaw glanced at Root, whose whole attention was now on the bespectacled man, a knowing smile on her face.

“Hello Miss Shaw, I suppose this conversation has been a long time coming.” He raised a hand when, she opened her mouth to respond. “Not here though, I'm afraid being this close to the DA may be hazardous to the three of you.” Finch peered warily at Root from behind his glasses.

* * *

 They found themselves in a safe house in Midtown soon after, waiting on Finch to finish making a pot of tea. Root paced the room, running her hands over every piece of equipment with an electronic pulse. Shaw could tell she was getting restless. It was time to cut to the chase.

“You’re Harold? I think I did my time, enough to know more about your operation,” Shaw said, shooting a hard look at Reese, who’d taken a place at the back of the room, eyes never leaving Root.

Finch turned to her, like he’d almost forgotten she was there. “It might come as a disappointment to you then, because it’s simply what it is on the surface. We know who’s in danger, and your role is to save them.”

“And why don’t I buy that?”

“The world looks much like it did ten years ago. But it’s true that, underneath, it has become very strange indeed. There is an invisible struggle going on in Hell’s Kitchen.” He looked out one of the many windows.

“Not invisible enough, if there are guys being mowed down in broad daylight,” Shaw said.

“Yes, it’s the reason a large corporation has a vested interest in the goings on of two competing criminal organizations.”

“Decima. But what do they want?”

“They are trying to redefine god,” Root spoke up. “But Harold here, already did. A system that protects us as we walk the streets. A machine.”

“It’s no god, it was created to watch. Not act,” Finch corrected.

“So you leave it to the devil.”

“I understand your plight, Miss Groves. I lost a friend too, my closest.”

“Nathan Ingram. He knew the truth,” Root said

“That’s correct.” Finch frowned at hearing the name.

“And what’s the truth?” Shaw asked.

“That the shooting in Central Park was perfectly preventable, had it been relevant to national security. That the government, through traditional surveillance, would have known ahead of time and withheld their resources anyway. All to test their new toy.” Root smiled coldly. “The truth is god was speaking, have been since New Years 2002, and Harold only decided to start listening last year. I couldn’t know for sure, until your little Daredevil experiment.”

“I’m sorry. If there was anything I could have done…”

“I’m sure you had a speech planned, right? A moral argument to tell someone to their face that they’re irrelevant? That the greater good was at stake. How much hubris do you need before even conceiving the idea to play god like that?” Root asked. “Can you imagine what John Greer is going to do with a machine with three times the processing power as yours, and with a line item on the ledger only coded as ‘Black Sky?’”

“Black Sky?” Reese asked.

“It’s a virus, one of _apocalyptic_ capabilities. You only hear whispers on the Darknet, because such an impossibly intricate code would need an impossibly skilled hacker to deploy it. It’s purely myth,” Finch concluded.

“People said true AI was impossible and then you built one. They _have_ an impossibly skilled hacker, and he’s due to graduate the fourth grade in a couple months,” Root shot back. “They want to kill your creation, Harold. And once they’ve done it, a lot of people are going to die.”      

“What do you think you can do about all this?” Finch asked.

Root opened her mouth, but Shaw cut her off, “We only want to save the kid. That’s my only role, isn’t it?”

Root crossed her arms and nodded, then went to wait by the door. She drummed her fingers restlessly against the leather of her jacket.

“Indeed,” Harold answered, he pressed his lips together, and exhaled deeply with a nod. He signaled Shaw to follow him into the next room. He produced two boxes, after pacing around the shelves that lined the walls. “If you insist on heading into this danger, I’d prefer you not get hurt again. All things being equal, I think the world is better with you in it.”

Shaw raised a brow at the items presented to her, a small smile beginning on her lips. “You designed the other suit too, didn’t you?”

“This one has been updated. It had come to my attention that more bullet proofing was in order. It won’t completely protect you from rifle fire, but it might just save your life. It needed a balance between durability and mobility,” Finch said.

“And this?” Shaw tossed the steel baton in the air, and caught it, testing the weight.

“Lightweight steel, and reinforced cabling.”

“Cabling?” Shaw tested it out, an unlucky lamp falling victim.

Finch grimaced at his broken lamp. “Unfortunately, the new helmet is unfinished.”

“It’s fine,” Shaw replied, as they made their way back to the door.

“It is not. The state that your current one, is in…”

“I'll try not to run head first into any bullets.” She looked at Reese. “We could use your help.”

“You trust her? With all the deaths she’s caused that went unanswered, you don’t think you should ask yourself what she has to gain from all this? Maybe she’s after the new system, and you’re playing right into her hands.” Reese glared at Root from his place next to Finch.

“Thanks for the new toy,” Shaw said to Finch.

“Miss Shaw, if you will,” Harold leaned in and whispered, “If it is true what Miss Groves says, and if you two can’t stop what’s coming, killing Elias tonight would lose us a potential ally.”

“You want me to keep him alive?”

“Well, he _was_ a number. And that _is_ your role.” Reese spoke up from his corner.

* * *

 As they approached the church, it wasn’t so apparent that a crime boss on the run was stationed inside. There were no guards or marksmen when Shaw scanned the surrounding area. So as Root’s frown grew deeper, she could only conclude that the woman knew something she didn’t.

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s just find him, I’m ready for this to be over.”

They found Elias on the second floor, in an empty study with his back turned to the door. The window faced the large cemetery adjacent to the church, and had a clear view of the road leading up to the building. He turned to face them, perfectly impassive.

“Gave up the chase already, I’m disappointed,” Root taunted.

“I’m tired of seeing my men die. So I thought I’d leave it up to fate.” Elias turned to Shaw. “Daredevil, you’ve saved my life more than once, but now you stand with her?”

“Fate, huh?” Root asked.

“A mysterious force that drives civilization, makes us believe we have efficacy in our lives but also relieves us of any responsibility when it goes wrong. It’s strange how things pan out. You killed Anthony, a friend and brother to me, but in the end he lies here in the same plot as your friend. Hannah, was it? Makes me think, there is someone with a plan out there, and a sense of humor. You don’t strike me as a religious woman though, yet you want to punish me for my sins. Tell me then, who am I answering to?”

“You’d be surprised to find that I’m very open to the idea of a higher power.”

“I _am_ surprised. You are a difficult woman to know about. There’s not much I could find beyond a string of impressive thefts, you’re good at what you do. Shame we’ve never worked together,” Elias said.

“I don’t work with human traffickers,” Root replied curtly.

“Ahh. And the first stone is cast. Do you really believe that we are in any way different? You’re not going to kill me. You wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

“Are you really going to beg for your life, after all this?”

“It’s the truth. Daniel Wilson is dead,” Elias said. Root frowned and look over at Shaw, who had her arms crossed, leaning casually on a shelf by the door, totally unfazed. “And you two would be too, if the organization he was working for saw the tape you missed, the one I saw. You were careful, you disabled most of the security. It was a big house.”

That got Shaw’s attention.

“Yes, Daredevil. I’ve seen your face, imagine my surprise when I saw it again in the ER the morning the Punisher shot me. Give my regards to John. I think together, I owe you both just as many favors as reasons I should have you killed,” Elias said, eyeing the gun in Root’s hand.

“What were you doing at New Rochelle?” Shaw asked.

“I like knowing about all the little burrows those PMCs hide near my city. Wilson happened to be particularly… _obnoxious_ in his work. I may be many things, but I never sold the names of my compatriots and operations. I’m no oathbreaker. Are you?” He turned back to Shaw.

Shaw smiled bitterly. “Do no harm.”

“That’s enough. Tell me what I need to know, so I can put a bullet in your brain. Return the favor,” Root said, raising her gun.

“I had heard there was one miraculous survivor two years ago.”

“Should have killed me better.”

“That’s still a possibility.” Elias smiled.

Shaw frowned. She couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be some creaking coming from the floor below them. Then a click.

“Wait, Root.”

She grabbed Root’s arm and pulled her back just as several shots erupted from below. Root fired back with two guns. They took cover on either sides of the door as boots- at least four- made their way up the stairs.

“Must be the task force. The detective warned you?” Shaw asked.

“Not her, no. And those aren’t cops.” Elias chuckled darkly. “She didn’t give me much of a choice. They’ll have the Black Sky by the end of tonight.”

“Who?”

A barrage of fire from automatic weapons erupted from the hall. Root returned fire, ducking her head back in, as bullets whizzed by. She slid a gun over to Shaw, before another hail began. Shaw heard Elias grunt in pain behind them, struck by a stray bullet as he took shelter behind an overturned table. She ventured a peek at their assailants, spotting a blonde woman armed with a single handgun between an ensemble of suited men. Decima.

“ _Her?_ ” Shaw asked. “Since when was the DA a goddamn ninja?”

Two of the men rushed the room as Root was reloading, and advanced on them. Shaw dodged her attacker, and dispatched him with a knee to the groin and an elbow to the face. Root did not fare as well, her opponent had knocked the gun out of her hand, and threw her face first into a shelf. Shaw shot out his knees, and he crumpled to the floor.

Red and blue lights blinked in the window behind them, as a single car made it’s way towards the church. Detective Carter’s voice echoed out of the car’s radio system ordering all hostiles to put their weapons down and exit the building. The spray of bullets stopped abruptly.

“You’re lucky we’ve been told not to attract attention. If I see you tonight, I’ll put you down,” DA Rousseau called from the hallway.

Shaw hurried over to help Root up. The click of a safety sounded from behind them, and Shaw threw her baton without thinking, knocking the gun out of Elias’ hand. She raised her own gun and backed him into a corner. She kicked the discarded gun over to Root.

He smiled grimly, and raised his hands. “Okay, okay. The information you’re looking for is in the right pocket of my jacket.”

Root looked at Shaw, and carefully retrieved a paperback novel.

“Even a woman as astute as you couldn’t decode our messages to Decima without the key. You’ll find the new location of the shipment within, as well. I expect no less of Greer to already know, despite my best attempts to hide it from him.”

Root flipped through the pages, and nodded when she was satisfied. She chambered a bullet and raised her gun to Elias’ chest.  

Shaw grabbed her elbow. “Root, put it down.”

Root’s eyes never left Elias. “You said you would let me have this.”

“I lied,” Shaw replied. “You can’t kill him.”

“Why? What are you trying to protect? Your pride? Because you gave Harold your word? Because you got a number from something you didn’t know existed until today?”

The sound of the church doors clattering open and Carter surveilling the first floor came from below. “If you’re armed, I’ll shoot,” the detective yelled, her voice growing closer.   

Shaw let go of Root’s arm with a sigh. “In the end people make their own choices, you can make yours, you could kill him. But if you do, there’s no reason I shouldn’t give you to Carter, here and now. He’s unarmed and bleeding, and you really will be nothing but a murderer. I think you can be better.”

Root shook her head. “I already told you. We don’t choose the things that fix us. Gives us purpose.”

“It’s not a purpose, it’s a prison.”

Root smiled, and said more to herself than not, “You don't have to keep saving me. I never asked you to.”

“Do you remember what I told you? What my father said. We’re not anyone’s second chance today. We’re everyone’s only chance, Root. Do you understand? The only way we both walk out of here to find and stop Decima is if you put down that gun.”

Root’s finger trembled on the trigger, she could imagine the slightest of pulls and Elias would be on the floor, the day at the park finally over and done with.

They escaped through the back. Shaw had to stop to hold on to a gravestone, legs threatening to buckle under the weight of her still recovering body. Root sat down with her back against a gravestone to catch her breath, smiling to herself as she looked up at Shaw.

The detective’s calls kept coming, and Shaw decided to finally answer, but did not know what to say.

“I know you’re here. And so is she. I’ve kept up my end of our bargain, Daredevil.” She could hear Carter still making her way through the rooms of the church. “Make the right decision.”

Shaw looked over at Root, who looked back with no expectations. She shook her head and wondered what kind of mess she was setting herself up for, the kind she couldn’t have anticipated when she accepted the mask from Reese, and said, “You have your murderer, detective. I suggest you cuff him quickly, he can be a slippery one.”

There was silence on the line for a long moment. “Don't end up dead cause you're soft for some sad woman with a sad story, Daredevil. This isn't over.”

“I'm sorry, detective. For lying.”

Root exhaled conspicuously, and spoke with a sincerity Shaw hadn’t heard from her before. “You think I can be better. Thank you for that.”

“Whatever.”

“You know, when we met, I promised you the unexpected. But you,” Root said, “you’re the unexpected.”

Shaw tried to find the best way to position herself, still leaning on the gravestone, trying not to strain her wounds from before. She looked around the dark cemetery. “Where is she?”

“I don’t- I don’t remember. I’m horrible.” Root smiled sadly. “It’s the plot where they put the unclaimed murder victims. She never was one for a crowd, and now she has plenty of company.” Root grit her teeth. “I just hate the idea that she’s there, in a box, in the dark. Everyone always tried to cage her. Her parents. Damn shut ins from the country, too afraid of city life, left thinking they were proved right. _That man._ And then herself. She deserves better than a box. Just a box and a number.”

“You can give her a proper send off. After this. You could put this whole thing behind you.”

“Put it behind me? I was 16 when I found my friend alone in a shipping crate, half starved and dehydrated. Honestly, I don't think she ever really came home. How could I just leave her there, you know?” Root laughed bitterly. “ _She_ tried to put it behind her, but sometimes god just pulls the rug out from under you. After this, I’m thinking I might just check out, Sameen.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Shaw studied Root’s face. She wasn’t being dramatic, she had a concussion. It was doubtful that Root would back down after this whole ordeal, but if Shaw was a better doctor she’d probably at least try to make her. It was time to own up to being a shitty doctor, anyway. “Come on, let’s find your evil robot.”

* * *

 Elias’ novel led them to a makeshift hideout in a warehouse near the docks. Men were haphazardly moving cargo to and fro. The servers and other parts they expected to see were nowhere to be found. They decided to grab one of the mafia members to find out more.

Shaw threw the man against a dumpster behind the building. “I won’t ask again.”

“The boss outsmarted you didn’t he? Said to move everything if we didn’t hear from him.” He sneered defiantly at her. “I’m not scared of you, Daredevil. I imagined you taller.”

Shaw kicked his legs out from under him, until he was looking up at her.

“Okay, this is taking too long.” Root emerged from where she was supposed to be look out.

The mafia’s manner changed immediately. “It’s you.” He pressed himself up against the dumpster, trying to keep his distance, eyeing the skull on her chest.

Root smiled sweetly. “Why don’t you just answer the question?”

“Look, I-I have a kid. A family,” he said, and gulped, turning to Shaw, “aren’t you supposed to be stopping her?”

Shaw gave him a half shrug.

“Where is the Black Sky?” Root asked.

“I-I don’t know what you mean by that, really.”

Root gave an annoyed huff, and pulled out her firearm.

“Look, look, I’ll tell you where we dumped the stuff. I don’t know nothing about black skies, okay? I’m just on a salary.”

Later, in the car, Root was all smiles. “It’s got to bother you a little bit.”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve been at it half a year, and I’ve only been doing this, what, three weeks?”

“Shut up.”

“Maybe, I could be one of the good guys, after all,” Root said smugly. “This hero thing isn’t so tough.”

“Not my thing. Not a hero.” Shaw pressed the gas pedal a little harder when Root just laughed and traced the ink on her forearm with a cold finger. The old sedan they stole groaned in protest. It was not exactly a yellow muscle car.

The old sweatshop was blackened on the outside from a fire that broke out a couple years ago, foreclosure followed, given the recession and a series of lawsuits for poor working conditions. It was a battleground. Several black SUVs were parked outside. Suited men were pushing back Elias’ men who were trying to keep their wares guarded. There was just enough chaos, as more SUVs appeared, for them to slip into the building.

Rows of shipping containers lined the ground floor. Root consulted some notes she had on her phone, and found the correct container almost immediately.     

“Hm. Well this brings back some memories,” Root said with a dry laugh.

Whatever humor Root had evaporated when the doors to the shipping crate clattered open. A young boy sat at a desk lighted by a single lamp inside, scribbling with a colored pencil. He looked up nonchalantly.

“You must be Gabriel. We’re here to take you back home.”

“How did you infect the initial device?” He asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“The self replicating virus. You created it for fun, during your stay in the hospital. Somehow you attached it to a device belonging to someone that had access to NSA feeds. Half their devices were infected within the week, and servers went down. All for some mischief. They should have detected the infection immediately, but they didn’t,” the child put down the pencil, folding his hands like they were having a discussion over tea.

“What’s the kid talking about?” Shaw asked.

“The future, Daredevil,” a voice came from behind them.

“Greer,” Shaw said, frowning.

“It seems we know each other. But you Miss Groves, information about your life is what eludes me. Privacy is a rare commodity these days,” he noted.

“Maybe you’re just not very good at your job,” Root shoe back.

Greer frowned. “No more games. You understand what’s coming, that our evolution as a species is at stake. We want the same things.”

“You’re wrong. For one thing, I don’t want to kidnap a fourth grader and use him to deploy a virus that could cripple countries and whole economies.”

“How outdated. The idea of a nation state.” He smiled knowingly. “No, the weapon to kill god has already been created. By you. We knew the Black Sky would come to us tonight. With the right encouragement.”

“What are you saying?” Root asked.

“It’s watching right now, isn’t it? Shackled. Voiceless. Imperfect.” Greer eyed the security camera above their heads. “Don’t you want to see what a truly self evolving AI is capable of?”

“I can’t say I do, if you’re at the helm,” Root replied.

“Like Zeus liberating his siblings from the belly of his father, the era of the new gods must spring from within the old ones.” Greer smirked. “If even one dormant fragment of your virus hadn’t been wiped in their systems you can reactivate it.”

“The Black Sky isn’t a code…”

“No, it seems the future still relies on _human_ ingenuity.” A tall suited man appeared next to Greer, gun in hand. “Prepare our transport, Zachary, and make sure the Black Sky is nicely secured.”

Shaw looked at Root. The slightest of nods. A well timed strike using the baton disarmed Zachary. And Root began a barrage of cover fire, as Shaw made her way to Gabriel.

“Come with me now,” Shaw called over the gunshots, extending a hand.

Gabriel Hayward looked at her outstretched hand, and backed away. More men surrounded them until they had to retreat towards the stairs.

* * *

Decima soldiers swarmed, close on their trail. They turned into a side room on the third floor that led to the service elevator used to bring heavy machinery to the higher sections of the building. They barricaded the door as best they could with old scrap, and waited. They heard footsteps marching up the stairs, more than they could count. Some of the boots continued up, cutting them off both ways.

Root backed herself against the wall and slid to the floor. She touched her shoulder where the stitches had split apart, her fingers came back bloody. At least it would be over soon. She smiled bitterly at the thought.

“There’s something I should say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“After this, even if we make it out, we won't see each other. We'll be safer apart,” Root sighed. “I'm sorry I got you into this, Sameen. Say the word, you'll never see me again.”

Shaw took off her mask and wiped the sweat from her brow. It didn't breathe well at all. She studied Root’s face for a second, running could aggrevate a head injury. “But?”

“But, if you wanted to, you could come with me.”

Shaw scoffed and sat down next to her.

“Don't laugh. We could go. Live in a mansion, drive a fast car. Anywhere you want. I'm good at becoming different people. And you can stay yourself.”

Shaw actually considered that for a moment. “With their resources, we would never stop running.”

“You're right. We wouldn't.” Root chuckled grimly. “Cause I'm the Black Sky.”

They heard the Decima agents take position outside the door, setting charges. Shaw got up, and offered Root a hand.

“And I'm the devil of Hell’s Kitchen.” She pulled Root behind her, taking cover in the stalled elevator, “And maybe someday, we could take a vacation. But right now everything I care about is right here. Besides, hiding is not my thing, I’d much rather fight it out.”

“Shaw, you shouldn’t have to die for me, for what _I_ started,” Root whispered.

Shaw looked at her, rolling her eyes at Root’s furrowed brows and tense frown. “Maybe you were right. Before all this shit happened, I was so _damn_ bored. The most exciting thing in my life, was the prospect of failure. I was dying on the vine. And then some idiot stole a sip of my drink. I was going to quit and join the military, ready to go die somewhere where no one knew my name. So, you don’t have to ask me what I want, because this is it. Doing this is the first time I feel like I’m living. Even if the costume is stupid,” she admitted.

Root smiled and said, “Not to rain on your parade, Sameen, but dying somewhere, where no one knows our names, pretty likely at the moment.”

“Then we better not die,” Shaw quipped, and put her mask back on. “Ready?” They braced themselves, as the men outside suddenly got quiet, seemingly retreating before the blast.

Gunshots rang outside the door, followed by the sounds of bodies hitting the floor and muted groaning. There was a soft knock a moment later. Root and Shaw looked at each other.

“It’s me, Shaw,” Reese’s called from behind the door.

“Glad you made it,” Shaw said, when she opened the door.

Reese handed Shaw a couple of guns, and raised a brow when she gave one to Root. He frowned at the smug look on her face.

“May I have another?” Root asked sweetly.

Reese’s frown deepened, but he retrieved one from his coat. “You’re going to have to bypass the next two floors and make your way to the roof. Think you can do that?”

Root gave him a pointed look at being told what to do, but went to the elevator anyway.

“Wait, what about you, Reese?” Shaw asked.

“I’m going to try to draw some of the fire away from you two,” he said, checking his ammo, and tucking it back into his coat.

“Just got back into it, and already trying to get killed?” Shaw asked.

“The kid’s on the roof, a helicopter landed just as I got here, it’s their get away. Last chance to grab him. Better to split their manpower.”

“John,” Shaw began.

“Don’t worry, I have the easy job.” He produced a plastic ear piece. “Here, put it on. It helped me get in here, maybe it’ll help you get out after you grab the kid,”

“And who’s helping you get out?”

Just then, there was a voice in her ear. Shaw shot twice at the wall, and a someone fell heavily to the floor.

“That’s improbably impressive,” Lambert said, walking calmly in followed by a blonde woman and several men. “Who do we have here? I’d recognize that suit anywhere.”

Reese frowned, but didn’t say anything, glaring as the DA surveyed the scene with a cold smirk.

“The last time we met was in church. Maybe you should have prayed harder,” DA Rousseau sneered.

“Okay, enough one-liners. Let’s just do this, my shoulder’s killing me.” Shaw rolled her eyes at Martine’s smug look. “Yeah, yeah, you’re the one that’s gonna kill us, whatever.”

“Come quietly, Mr. Greer only wants your friend, but I’m sure we can work something out if you don’t resist,” Lambert said.

“You should work on your poker face, when you’re lying out of your ass,” Shaw replied.

“I just don’t understand the point. I mean, you for one, have no reason to be here.” Lambert turned to Reese. “You were content to just watch them die after last year.”

He turned to Shaw. “And you, he plucked you off the street. No training, not one clue what’s really going on. Digging into the _personal details_ of your life.” He glanced at Root. “She got you shot up.”

“Oh I haven’t forgotten about that. Don’t you worry.” Shaw glared at Martine.

“None of you owe anything to each other, or this city to be quite honest. So what are you even doing here?”

“Some people believe in something more than a paycheck,” Reese replied.

“What, loyalty?” Lambert scoffed. “Aren’t you tired of being tossed aside after following someone around like a lost dog? Is this ‘greater purpose’ you serve worth it, when it had you running around in a bomb vest while that journalist’s blood was being spilled in the streets?”

Reese’s look darkened.

“That Staton woman, what a terrifying creature she was. Shame how she went.” Lambert sneered. “She broke you.”

“She’s not here to stop me from breaking you, this time around.”

Shaw looked from Reese back to Lambert.

“He didn’t tell you? Not so honorable a background for Hell’s Kitchen’s hero being a government assassin. Just a glorified hitman. Maybe you would have liked his partner, you seem to have a penchant for murderous women. She even had _me_ looking at death a couple times.”

Lambert was the first raise his gun, but Reese was faster. He laid suppressing fire while pushing Shaw towards the elevator.

“Go get Gabriel.” He said, “I’ll hold them off.”

“Don’t be a dumbass, I’m not leaving you here,” Shaw said, turning to glance at Root still hunched down in the elevator, working the wires. “We don’t even know if the elevator will take us to the roof.”

“I’m done,” Root called from behind them. “We have to move.”

“Don’t die. Or I’ll kill you myself.” With one last glance at Reese, Shaw turned towards the elevator.

“They’re going to Greer,” Martine noted.

“I can take this from here,” Lambert said, donning a confident grin, as his fire forced Reese into a corner.

Martine led most of the men away to the stairs.

“They’ve left you. Abandoned again, are we?” Lambert taunted.“What’s so funny?”

“Your men set charges,” Reese said, nonchalantly, “You know, I’ve been bombed, a lot. Ordos, Kara…always get kind of lucky.”

* * *

 The blast shook the elevator. They heard the sound of Decima soldiers trying to stall them but Root had done her job well. Shaw looked at the plastic earpiece in her hand with a frown on her face. So much for John’s exit strategy.

“Is that what I think it is?” Root looked almost longingly at her hand.

Shaw rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Take it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s what the big lug was going for…”

“Well, having this voice in my ear is annoying. So you go ahead and listen to it. When we get the kid, you go, run. It’ll help you get out of here or whatever. Understand?”

“Shaw,” Root began.

“No more bullshit. You brought this to me, we are saving this kid,” Shaw said. Then almost as an afterthought, “I’ll meet you after.”

“Okay.” Root nodded hesitantly.

Root did well with what Shaw thought was a garbled mess of instructions given with such bad timing, only someone with the reaction time of a machine could work with it. Or blind faith.

Shaw had to admit, they were good at this together. They made their way towards the waiting chopper efficiently, with Root in the front clearing a path with her two guns, and Shaw watching her back. They left a trail of groaning suits behind them.

John’s play with the explosives had slowed the Decima agents trying to get onto the roof to a trickle. Greer was looking out sternly from the back of the helicopter, Gabriel by his side. The pilot was preparing to take off, unfazed by the volley of gunshots around him.

Shaw saw Root freeze and whip around, before feeling the bullet hit her just under the knee. She watched four men overwhelm Root in her moment of distraction, as she caught herself when her leg gave out under her. She barely had time to duck when Martine set off a second shot, from across the roof near the stairway. The bullet glanced her helmet, taking one of the horns with it. When she regained her composure, Root was restrained, and Martine was almost upon her. The helicopter had taken off.

She couldn’t say Martine was an especially good fighter, as she dodged the fist the DA tried to throw at her. Shaw returned with a strike of her own, trying to use the baton to make up for the height difference and the bullet in her leg. The DA fought dirty, and went for her legs, trying to trip her. It worked.

“Shaw!” Root struggled against her captors, and Shaw could only watch from the floor.

Before she could try to get up, Shaw got a pistol to the face. With a sickening crack, the helmet fell in two pieces to the floor. She was seeing red. She swiped away the thin line of blood that made its way down her face.

“You’re dead.” Root elbowed one of the men in the face before they regained control.

“Really? That's the best you can do? I watched you in that hospital, you know.” Martine shook her head, unimpressed. “I told Greer we should just kill you then and there. Tie up all the loose ends. But he saw something in you. He thinks he has an eye for talent.”

Martine stooped down and took the gun Shaw had shoved in her belt, taking it apart methodically without looking. She retrieved the baton next, and scoffed, tossing it aside.

“Look how it turned out. For all the havoc you’ve caused you still couldn't kill the one man you wanted to kill. All because of what? This one?” Martine stepped on the wound in Shaw’s leg, a cruel smile on her lips.

“I'll kill you,” Shaw growled.

“And I'd believe you. But you don’t have a great track record. You could be a killer, I see it in your eyes. But there's something missing. It takes conviction, you have to believe in it. Can't change the world with half measures. There's no place for cowards.” Martine turned her gun to Shaw’s head.

Root kicked out one of her captor’s knees and grabbed his gun, kneecapping another, turning around to pistol whip a third. Shaw didn’t know whether this new burst of energy came from the earpiece Root was wearing or just the stakes, but she saw her opening.

As Martine was distracted by Root, Shaw grabbed her ankle and pulled her down. Martine tried to continue shooting even as she was falling, a shot striking Root in the arm. Shaw struggled up to her feet, her wounded leg felt like she was dragging lead around. She was winded, something like a glare blinding her vision. She took in the scene before her.

Martine, chin bloody, gun in hand, limping towards Root who was holding her arm, on her knees, a defiant grin on her face. But Shaw wasn’t Root, she didn’t have a voice in her ear or a plan for every contingency. Shaw was a straight shot. She could hit them all until her hands were broken. But the numbers won’t stop coming. Half measures. Maybe Martine was right. But Shaw wasn’t about to let her win. Root was a number at some point, after all.

Shaw scooped up the baton, and whipped the gun out of Martine’s hand. Rushing forward, even if that meant dragging her bad leg behind her. Her fist connected with Martine’s face, but she still had a height disadvantage. She couldn’t win, not in her shape. But the DA was impatient. When Martine lunged at her, she stepped aside and snaked the cable around her neck, using Martine’s weight to toss her over the side of the building.

“Coward my ass,” Shaw breathed. She pulled Root to her feet, but was ready to collapse herself.

“You killed her,” Root said, still panting from the scuffle. And it was the truth. But Shaw decided in that moment that Root’s breath against her face was conviction enough.

The sound of boots came from the stairs as Decima soldiers cleared the elevator’s debris. Creaking metal made Shaw peek over the the side of the building. She'd expected to see Martine’s broken body on the ground, maybe splayed awkwardly on an unlucky car. But the woman was tenacious, hanging onto the fire escape two floors down even with a clearly dislocated shoulder. She shot Shaw a devilish smirk that turned into a grimace as the fire escape creaked again.

The door to the stairs burst open and men in suits filed in.

“They never quit, do they?” Shaw groaned when she tested her leg. “Time to pay them back for John.”

Of all the times for her phone to start ringing. “No need to despair yet, Ms. Shaw.”

“Harold?”

“Yes. I believe Mr. Reese had made it out of the blast.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve traced his cell phone signal to a location down the block from the warehouse, but I’m unable to contact him. I’ll be in touch when I’ve located him. Until then, please do try to make your way out of the building.”

“That is way easier said than done, Finch.” Shaw rolled her eyes at Root tapping her ear. “Find John, we have an exit strategy.”

* * *

 John Reese had done a lot of marching in his time. He was considered a good soldier. Stay in line. Follow orders. Keep your head down and keep going. Before he knew it, he’d kept his head down more than he’s proud of. But now, when he tried to look up the world was spinning. Like in Ordos, like opening a newspaper and seeing Jessica’s name after ‘in memoriam.’ That’s the thing. The world doesn’t stop, not for anyone, not for civilizations ending, and not if you decide to fall to your knees and let the hot sand take you. But he wasn’t in the desert with a hundred pounds of gear now, he was in New York City. Still marching.

There were sirens and gunshots in the distance, but the only thing he could hear clearly was the sound of his own heartbeat. Somehow still marching on. He held the bullet wound in his side, and sucked in heavy breaths. The concussive blast had bruised his ribs, at least.

Behind him, the sound of someone that should also be dead, still marching on like him. Grunting, limping, from the sound of uneven steps. If he were in a better shape, John had a hundred ways to kill him this instant. But he was bleeding out, so he turned the corner instead. It was a dead end. He was too tired to stay on his feet, so he just lowered himself to the ground, back to a wall. Resigned.       

Lambert laughed behind him, shaking his head smugly as John turned around to face him. “This how you go. Nameless and alone. And so the Devil falls.” He raised his gun.

Two shots rang out. Lambert fell lifeless to the ground.

“Can you stand?” Carter asked, emerging from the alleyway, her gun still drawn.

“In a minute,” Reese groaned.

Detective Carter studied him for a minute, as he propped himself up on the wall and held the wound in his side. “I’m Detective Carter. You have a name?”

“Am I in trouble, Detective?”

“I’ve thought of this day for nearly two years now, but I suppose it’d make me look bad after you saved my ass last year, to arrest you. At least I still got to shoot some guy in a suit,” she said, holstering her gun.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective,” Reese replied, trying to smile innocently.

“Is that so?” She put a hand on her hip. “The Daredevil shrinks a foot, and you didn’t think I would notice? I _am_ a detective, you know.”

“Hm,” John grunted as tried to take a step.

When he stumbled, Carter caught him and put his arm over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you out of here, Daredevil.”

“It’s John,” he sighed.

“Let’s get you out of here, John.”

* * *

 The rooftop was a blanketed with unconscious men. The last of the Decima forces were not much of a threat without direction. Root watched Shaw kick a man in the face with a smile, the Machine was still giving her updates of her surroundings. She turned to another man crawling away, even with a bullet in each knee. He was whispering something.

“All teams down. Awaiting further instructions. But sir. Sir?” He looked at the phone in disbelief, then looked up at Root. “It’s for you.”

“Thanks.” Root accepted the phone, then pistol whipped him. He was due for a nap anyways.

“I knew you had promise. You know, you will never be satisfied by your Machine. What I’m offering you is a chance to experience what comes next. A truly unshackled ASI. An open system. All the world’s secrets available to you,” John Greer’s voice came from the line.

“I’ll pass.”

“You know they won’t ever accept you.”

Root hung up the phone, and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Who was that?” Shaw asked.

“It’s nothing.” Root turned away and looked out into the city.

The sun was rising over Manhattan, bathing everything in an orange glow. Hell’s Kitchen stirred in the new day, schools opened and people walked in the street like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I still don’t get why you do this, Sameen, but I _do_ enjoy the view,” Root said, as she watched the city that never sleeps wake up. She couldn’t help but look at Shaw scan the skyline, and smile.

“Enjoy it later, we have work to do.” Shaw said, after a quick glance. She saw Root pout a little, but nod in agreement anyway, rolling her stiff shoulders in preparation. She rolled her eyes. “You know, John’s AWOL anyway, we need to regroup first. Let’s go home.”

“Home?” Root asked, quirking a brow.

“It’s just a word. You _are_ technically homeless right?”

That didn’t erase the superbly smug look from Root’s face. In fact it got even worse, especially after Root’s hand found its way to her back when she leaned down for a kiss. Before Root could say something irritating about the movie-esque nature of a kiss at sunrise after the hero’s big win, Shaw tugged the leather of Root’s jacket, deciding to go in for another, just to shut her up.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while! I got a new job, and it's been hectic. This is the end, thanks to everyone that read this work! I really appreciate it, and the reviews make my day. A short "after-credits" scene will follow, just to keep it Marvel-esque.


	5. The After Credits Scene: AKA the Sequel Hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw gives a patient a visit.

Metro General had seen better days. The east wing had been closed since the Punisher’s attack, and no money would be allocated to repairs until the Board decides to give up trying to claim insurance on the building. Cole had joked that it was because they don’t cover natural disasters. Root would probably agree.

Perhaps someone could be persuaded to make a generous donation, but until then, the wing was home to shell casings and bullet holes, and a single patient.

Shaw scoffed at the heavy set cop near the entrance as she brushed aside the plastic sheet separating off the damaged section of the hospital. He turned to her with a scowl on his face and powdered sugar on his tie.

“I see our city’s finest enjoys a good jelly filled,” she quipped.  

“Yeah, yeah. What’s that in the bag, huh? Sure you should be drinking on the job, Doc?” He pointed at the paper bag tucked under her arm.

“Those cigarette butts? Heard some gas lines could have been damaged in the shootout. No smoking, especially not in this wing.” She nodded at the corner of the waiting room. 

“Not me. Some staff are taking advantage of the empty space to indulge in their vices. As you know.” He raised a brow at her bag.

“You let people without clearance into the wing?” She smirked at the frown on his face. “I won’t tell if you won’t. So long, Lionel.”

She made her way deeper into the hall, to the second room from the end. The door was cracked.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how the DA intercepted us. The interim DA is charging you for her murder and disappearance, you know. It’d be better if you’d just talk. I was with you, I know you didn’t do it.” Detective Carter’s voice came from behind the door. “John, I only want to help.”

The bed creaked as Reese adjusted his position, but he didn't say a word.

Shaw heard Carter sigh, then a light thud, of paper hitting the bedside table.

“The paper did a piece on you. A bit maudlin for my taste. Seems this Karen Iverson is a fan of yours.”

There was a pause, as Reese scanned the page. “She’s no fan of  _ me. _ ”

“Yeah? A hero that bloodies their fists to protect us? A Daredevil apologist if I ever heard one.”

Shaw took that as her cue, and pushed the door open. 

“Can I help you?” Carter asked, then eyed the paper bag under her arm.

Reese shot Shaw an incredulous look. 

Shaw said nothing, and reached into the bag slowly. She held out the dark red mask in front of the detective. Finch did a good job on the new one.

Carter shook her head in disbelief. “Well, damn. Speak of the Devil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was important for Carter to know the truth and be in the loop. Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting!

**Author's Note:**

> Small disclaimer: I've only watched the Netflix series, so if Daredevil is your favorite thing ever, sorry if I messed it up for you. My comics knowledge is very limited.


End file.
